


tender is the fire (that lit your pyre)

by beansprout, Monzy_Atelier



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Ifrit!Ignis, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2019-06-14 14:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 60,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15390630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beansprout/pseuds/beansprout, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monzy_Atelier/pseuds/Monzy_Atelier
Summary: It was said, long ago, that a human’s love melted Ifrit’s heart. There were many versions of the story, but its essence was the same: Ifrit the Infernian had once given his love to a mortal, who held it treasured in his noble, royal heart.Or: Another Ifrit!Ignis AU, where Ignis is a god from the start and his love for Noctis changed the fate of the world.Every chapter comes with a watercolor illustration HANDMADE WITH LOVE... Please come and feast your eyes!This fic is canon divergent and will be non episode Ardyn compliant!New update: Noctis handling the aftermath of the Empire attack on Insomnia, and the lovers sharing a well-deserved rest.





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> All my thanks for Monzy for a) being the best Noctis anyone could've asked for and writing half of this story and b) providing us with the blessing of her arts !!  
> We hope you enjoy the story and we can't wait to hear from you!!!!

It was said, long ago, that a human’s love melted Ifrit’s heart. 

Some said that Ifrit was born a giant, and the spark of love set his heart afire, until he was Pyreburner. Some said that Ifrit had always been star-flames, but only took physical form and became the Infernian on the day that his mortal love beckoned. There were many versions of the story, but its essence was the same: Ifrit the Infernian had once given his love to a mortal, who held it treasured in his noble, royal heart. 

For he was the noblest of mortal Kings, the Six would have gladly granted him their favor and welcomed him in their hallowed halls among the stars. But for all that he was hailed King of Stars, the King loved the world too well to abandon it. He spurned immortality, pleading instead for another cycle in the life-stream, and the Six granted him this. However, even with the Six’s favor, he would still have to wait his turn, and a thousand years was the price to pay until he would be born into Eos again. 

Since then, the Astrals might as well have numbered five, for no one ever saw or heard of Ifrit again. There, too, opinions varied. Some believed Ifrit chose to pay his share of the price, passing on into the gardens of Etro to be with his beloved until the day they would be allowed back in the mortal realm. Others said the King’s soul was lost, and Ifrit wandered the dark expanse between the stars, searching for it so that it might be returned on time. Others still thought that the millennium of wait had already passed, and Ifrit was but biding his time, peering out from every roaring campfire and sputtering candle flame, stealing looks at the humans, searching for a resemblance of his love. 

Here again, the opinions conversed. No matter what the version, they seemed to agree on one thing: that some way, somehow, Ifrit and his mortal would be reunited, and this time they would be happy together forever. 

  
[](https://monzy-atelier.tumblr.com/post/176168398030/ifrit-meets-the-mortal-do-not-repost)  



	2. 1. noctis

At four years old, Noctis’ favorite stories were always the ones about Ifrit and his mortal love. He knew every version by heart, even if it was not in so many big, fancy, musical words, the way Dad read it to him so effortlessly from the squiggly, arcane characters on the pages. No, Noctis knew the stories by the pictures in his Cosmogony, and they were enough for him to string together an entire universe inside his head. Here, near the beginning, was the King of Stars, on his way to make a sacrifice to Ifrit, appealing to him on behalf of humanity for the first time. At this point, Ifrit was depicted like a pillar of red flames, his only human-like features the slit of his eyes that were white-hot shards of fire. Later on, though, in the illustration of Ifrit stepping down from his throne of flames to take his first step towards the humans, he would have taken on another shape, though not entirely human, but more familiar and less forbidding. Close to the end, there would be a double-page spread of the Six gathered to give blessings to the King as they sent him off to the garden of Etro. Ifrit’s flames seemed completely doused on the last page, so that his face was almost as pale as Shiva’s, and his features were contorted like he was crying. 

On and on, Noctis had turned and turned these pages, revisiting the stories like an old friend. But always he came away a little dissatisfied. He owned many Cosmogony books, but none of them drew Ifrit the same way. Some gave him pale skin and golden eyes. Some made him pitch black, with his eyes a faint red glow from the depth of his skull. Some made him a figure half-man, half beast, and some just drew a bull with wicked horns and crazed eyes. Noctis wished they’d settle on an image already, like they’d already settled on Shiva with her many braids and her skin white as snow. Or how they’d settled on Bahamut in his armor, standing before a sky where the stars were thousands upon thousands of shining swords. The way the illustrations varied, Ifrit’s image kept slipping from his memory, and Noctis felt like he didn’t know the Infernian at all, not the way he knew the other Astrals, despite desperately wanting to. 

This edition of the Cosmogony was his favorite, and he was determined to memorize Ifrit’s face where it was clearest and most handsome, in the drawing where he held a blazing torch over a group of men in ragged cloaks, helping them keep the darkness and its beasts at bay. Still, as hard as he tried, the only result of Noctis’ efforts was to make his eyes cross with weariness. So he gave up, folding the Cosmogony onto his lap, legs swinging as he rubbed his eyes and looked around. This bench was his favorite one in the garden, because the sun fell on it just right no matter the time of the day. And from here, he could see most of the Crownsguards patrolling around the Citadel, no matter which path they’d chosen. Some of them would even notice him and wave. Even so small an attention would make Noctis wince and hide behind his book, sheepish that he was caught, though secretly he was pleased. If the Guard looked nice, Noctis might even dare to wave back, but it didn’t happen often. 

He was still working on his people skills, as Dad had put it. 

The weather was nice and warm these days as it approached the end of spring and edging comfortably into summer. And so, on more afternoons than not, Noctis’ nursemaid would send him out into the garden by himself, after making him reiterate his promise to stay put on the bench and not wander far. She said it was punishment for not eating his vegetables, but Noctis was starting to suspect that maybe she just wanted him out of her hair so she could have a moment of quiet. He wasn’t sure she even cared enough to realize that he’d caught on to the pattern. 

In any case, it wasn’t so bad, sitting out here in the warm sun. It felt nice to let the heat soak into him little by little, as he dwelled on his reserve of stories and Dad-filled memories. He willed the afternoon to go by faster so Dad would come back, and they could have dinner together, and Noctis would tell him about everything that he’d seen and ask him all the questions that he’d saved up during the day. 

Thinking about Dad and watching the guards made Noctis feel a little lonely, though. Add boredom to that mix, and it was enough for him to concoct a plan to overcome his shyness and do something for a change. Fingers still tracing the comforting, familiar bumps and groves on the cover of the Cosmogony, Noctis thought it was time he should look up. The next guard that Noctis saw, no matter how stern or how angry he might look, Noctis would wave at him. 

It would be real neat, though, if the Six would send him someone really, really nice.

[ ](https://monzy-atelier.tumblr.com/post/176168467645/the-little-prince-and-his-legends-do-not)

*

The stranger stood there patiently, leaning his weight against the pillar in a comfortable way that was tell-tale of how well he knew and liked this spot, in the same way that Noctis knew and liked his bench. He must have been standing there for days and days, and Noctis must have seen him at some point, because his face seemed almost familiar. So maybe he was no stranger after all. Noctis was puzzled though, because not one of the other Guards had stopped to say hi to him. Maybe they were like Noctis and hadn’t noticed the man yet? He seemed to blend right in with his surroundings. If you don’t hold the thought of him in your mind with intention, it just… scurried away, like a slippery little eel. 

However, once you manage to look at him a little more closely, it was clear that the man was very different from the Crownsguards, despite his stoic stance, and the black uniform he was clad in. In fact, there was something that marked him apart from every man that Noctis had ever seen. Noctis couldn’t tell what it was at first. Maybe it was just because he was so tall? He towered over all the other guards who walked past him, but that wasn’t quite it… Noctis looked at the stranger from beneath his eyelashes, watching him surreptitiously as the man, in turn, seemed completely focused in watching him. His face was not a harsh one – in fact, it looked pleasant enough, but his expression looked so still, as if he was wearing a mask. Noctis had no idea why anyone would go through such troubles to make their face look like that, but then he had caught the stranger in one unguarded moment and he thought he understood. 

When the stranger let himself go, there was so much sadness pouring out of him that Noctis felt as if he could touch it, and even stir it, like cake batter, or honey in a pot. 

Well, this complicated the situation. Noctis was going to practice saying hi to the first person he saw, but since the stranger had made himself hidden way back in the corner, perhaps he didn’t want any company? Dad had told Noctis that sometimes when people were really tired or sad, all they wanted was to be by themselves. Noctis had no idea why people would act that way. Surely, when you’re sad, it’s much nicer to have someone comforting you? There was only one way to find out, so he looked up now, openly returning the stranger’s gaze. That usually would’ve made any guard stop in their track and brought a smile to their lips, but the stranger didn’t react at all. Maybe he’d been looking in this direction for so long that he’d stopped paying attention? Was he asleep? Noctis found himself smiling at that – how silly would that be? – and then he raised his hand and waved. 

The stranger’s attention was on him, for sure. But he didn’t return the wave either. In fact, all he did was look around, as if expecting to find someone else behind him. Well, now that was just daft. Noctis was looking right at him as he waved, wasn't he? How could he possibly be waving at anyone else? Apparently, the man came to the same conclusion, though he still hesitated for quite a while. He looked like he was debating very seriously with himself, his brows drawn together in a little frown. Noctis could relate to this. After all, hadn’t Noctis taken quite a while to work up the courage to wave, himself? If the man was shy, Noctis was more than happy to wait for him to make up his mind. 

Finally, the stranger moved. He pushed himself off of the pillar, his hands flying like nervous birds, first to the hem of his jacket to straighten it, then to the collar of his shirt to make it fit just right. Noctis couldn’t tell if any improvement had been made, since his clothes were already crisp and perfect, and there wasn’t any dust that Noctis could see. Still, Noctis watched the man’s slow progression as he made a last check to reassure himself that he was looking proper, then crossed the courtyard and came down on one knee in front of the bench to look right at Noctis. 

Behind the eyeglasses, his eyes were green. 

The man opened his mouth to speak, but his voice cracked so badly, his words were unintelligible. The sound, not unpleasant, reminded Noctis of the fireplace that Dad lit in his study in winter, of the hiss and crack of a dry log that had just caught fire. The man paused, obviously embarrassed, and cleared his throat. “Your Highness,” he said finally. “Good afternoon.” With the cracking cleared away, his voice was soft, and with such a musical lilt to it that made it unique to any other voice Noctis had heard. 

Noctis liked him instantly. 

“Good afternoon,” he returned. His legs had picked up on the swinging again, but this time out of excitement, not boredom. Let’s see, he’d done well, exchanging greetings like a proper well-mannered young man. What’s next? “Everyone calls me Highness, but it’s not my real name, you see. I have lots of names.” Usually, that was as long a sentence that Noctis could utter to a stranger. But the man still looked as if he was still listening, and somehow his intensity was reassuring to Noctis. He carried on with his thoughts. “Dad always calls me Noctis, though. Or just Noct. I figure, since he’s Dad and all, he should know best. So… Noctis is my real name. Just so you know.” 

By then, most adults would smile at him. If there were a couple of them, maybe they would exchange a glance, and laugh, and sometimes even reach out to pinch Noctis’ cheek. The man did nothing of the sort. He just gave a little nod, with an expression of understanding. “I see. Then I will address you properly as Noctis from now on.” And then, he did an odd thing. He just sat down in the middle of the path, crossing his long legs so they wouldn’t get in the way between the two of them. He did this like it was the only logical thing to do, plopping down onto the dirt as if he hadn’t just spent a long time dusting off his clothes. He did this just so he could be on eye level with Noctis as they spoke. “You may call me—Ignis. It’s a pleasure to see you healthy and well, Noctis.”


	3. 2. ignis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, so busy with work but I managed to complete this, and Monzy just sat down and whipped out the art. Thank you for the lovely comments on the first chapter, you keep us going!  
> Let us know how you enjoy our angry boi Ignis, he's a favorite of ours. :3c

Ignis knew the Cosmogony like the palms of his hands. 

His brothers and sisters had teased him mercilessly about hoarding these books, every edition, every reprint. Levi, especially, had several very scathing remarks about how narcissism was a specifically human vice, and that Ignis, despite all his talk about being tired of humans, had let himself be influenced in the worst way. Ignis had ignored her as he tended to his library. Somewhere, among all the universes, there was a pocket dimension that held nothing but his books, all well-worn and well-loved. When he tired of wandering the stars, there was nothing that calmed him more than to leaf through those pages, looking at the illustrations of the King of Stars, searching for only one happy coincidence: that somehow some artist had rendered a close enough likeness of this mythical figure they’d only ever heard about. 

The world was full of happy accidents, but of course one such as that was too good to be true. Most of the times, the depiction of Ifrit’s mortal lover was no bigger than the thumbnail of a human, a tiny shape with hardly anything to set it apart. To find distinguishing facial features on these was hopeless. And yet Ignis kept these disappointments of human fancy around to look at anyway. A millennium was a long time even for an Astral. No matter how much he hated to admit it, no matter how hard he fought it, this was the truth: It was getting harder and harder to conjure up the face of his beloved. 

Needless to say, to see him looking right at Ignis through Noctis’ blue eyes seemed nothing short of a miracle. 

Why did mortals always think of love as warm? Perhaps it was natural for them that way. But they all got it wrong, very wrong, when it came to Ifrit’s love. Ifrit had always burned. He could set the fiercest beast afire with a look; he could melt the strongest wall the humans put up for fortification with a single touch of his long, curved claw. And for a long, long time, he had thought this was as it should be, that hungry flames and desolation were all the humans deserved. The King of Stars had opened his eyes. Under the mortal King’s gentle coaxing, Ifrit had learned to cool his gaze so that humans might look upon him without evaporating on the spot. Even better, he had learned to cool his touch so that it would no longer sear skin, and direct contact would be as pleasant as sliding close to an open fire in the coldest of winter nights. 

For a millennium without the guidance of his beloved, his soul had been lost, left to wither. There was not even a painting, or any fraudulent replica of his likeness, to remind Ignis of his love. Seeing his solemn blue eyes peering out from Noctis’ dear, childish face was like finding a gentle, sweet breeze of life within the most arid of deserts. It was like a cold balm was being spread over the Infernian’s scorched heart, and he was grateful for only so much while being unable to help but long for more. 

His longing had guided his footsteps to return to these gardens day after day, watching Noctis as the boy seemed to absorb himself in the study of his Cosmogony. As it turned out, Noctis was not as absorbed as that, for he managed to notice Ignis in spite of the cloak of shadows borrowed from the emptiness between the stars. It was a magic too primal for humans to even comprehend, let alone break, and yet Noctis in all his innocence had pierced through Ignis’ defense with just a look. Obviously, the Crystal had much to answer for, the way it was already changing and shaping Noctis every day of his growth. 

Ignis had felt the ripple in the fate of the world as the Crystal named him its Chosen one. Apparently, these ripples were washing over Noctis even now, like the gentlest of nudges, or the lightest brush of a butterfly’s wings, and yet every single one of them was pushing Noctis closer to his death. Ignis felt each and every single one of them enter his own heart-flame like a spear of ice. 

At first, he had wailed. It was not fair that the world would give him back his beloved, only to take him away again. Right then, he could have flattened the world in ruins, turned the Crystal into ash. The only thing that had stayed his hands was the same reason that Ignis had not followed his beloved into the gardens of Etro ages ago. Ifrit had still been needed then, as was the Crystal still needed now, loath as he was to admit it. Destruction was no absolution, just as his love had taught him. Darkness still loomed over Eos, the Starscourge ran rampant. As long as they could not purge the Scourge that plagued their Star, the King would never be able to rest. His love for Eos and its people was so great that it would burden his every lifetime and would only grow stronger with every new cycle.

The despair was quick to pass, because it was useless to complain, unproductive to be bitter about the designs of stubborn, melodramatic, over-powered Gods. The years since had calmed him, and Ignis knew there was still time. Bahamut could wax poetic on preordained destiny all he liked, Ignis would not allow Noctis to be born and reared for the sole purpose of throwing away his life as a sacrificial lamb. Not even for the sake of the world. 

For Noctis he would turn the world around, he would dupe the Fates themselves. _You cannot interfere with human machinations_ , Shiva had warned him. Well, technically, he was not doing any interfering. Not any more than the Crystal. He was just here, watching. Now he was just talking. Surely Noctis deserved better than to be molded by the Crystal to be its weapon without any kindness and guidance. 

It was a good thing that Noctis had not noticed Ignis immediately. It gave him time to get used to being so small and puny. By now, this mortal disguise was starting to settle, and Ignis could move in it without feeling as though it would crack at the seams and let burst great gushes of lava. Still, he limited his movements to the simplest gestures, as he gradually grew more comfortable. Hopefully, one day, he’d even move naturally in it. As Noctis told him of his latest troubles with his nursemaid, Ignis only inclined his head, and nodded every so often. 

“What happened is that I didn’t want to eat my green beans, ‘cause they were all weird and soggy,” Noctis informed him, still with that grave and solemn expression. He could well be discussing the fate of his kingdom. Ignis nodded somberly in return, treating this information with the respect it deserved. “So then Miss Claudia got really grumpy, and she said I had to go out here and sit still until I feel bad so I’d eat them next time. But next time the green beans would still be soggy, wouldn’t they? I don’t think it’d make them any easier to chew and now I’m bored too, so I don’t think it’s working.” 

“I see.” Ignis’ brows were drawn together in a little frown. Was this a normal way to handle small human beings, or was this Miss Claudia being overly harsh? He had seen Noctis out in the garden more often than not. Did it mean he was being punished every afternoon? This seemed very lazy on Miss Claudia’s part. Ignis would have to take a closer look at the situation. “Well, I know it might not seem like it, but there is a very easy solution to your problem. There are ways to cook green beans that don’t make them soggy. If you could suggest this to the chef, perhaps he could make it so that eating his creations isn’t such a hardship anymore.” 

Noctis took this information and considered it, obviously dubious. Ignis understood his doubts: Was there actually a way to cook the universally hated legume and make it palatable even to the youngest children? He would have to figure this out. Either way, Noctis seemed to have granted him an easy trust – otherwise he wouldn’t have allowed Ignis to approach at all, let alone confide in him with his greatest troubles, would he? So he seemed to accept this offered solution, even if he was still hesitant. “Okay then, I’ll try. I’m not sure it’s gonna help, but I’ll try.” 

“I would ask nothing more of you.” So far, so good. Ignis felt like he’d really made a contribution in Noctis’ life, albeit small – without bringing up ‘human machinations’, as Shiva had put it. But then again, the bar was low. What could a four-year-old child understand of wars, outside what he’d seen in stories? Stories. Ignis’ eyes fell on the thick volume of Cosmogony, still cradled close on Noctis’ lap. The book was large and glossy, thick with illustrations. It didn’t take him long to identify the edition, and it was amusing to consider that they would find common ground in something so mundane, so irrational. Ignis felt the weight of Noctis’ gaze fixed on him, as if awaiting Ignis’ appraisal of the Cosmogony. So he inclined his head towards the book. “Can you already read all the stories?” 

“Not really,” Noctis admitted. As he spoke he opened the book on his lap, slowly leafing through the pages. His cheeks were flushed. Ignis could tell that, even if the young Prince had taken the initiative to beckon him over, speaking with a practical stranger was still a big effort from his part. Perhaps he was battling his shyness every moment, trying to keep the conversation going. Ignis would have to give him little nudges to help him along, but for now, Noctis seemed more than ready to keep up with his end of the talking. “Some of them have long words I don’t understand yet. But, it has a lot of pictures, so that’s not so bad. And Dad read them for me a bunch’a time, so even if I can’t make out the words, I can look at the pictures and remind myself!” 

Noctis’ little hands moved a little faster. He was turning the pages with purpose now, instead of just looking for something for his hands to do. What he was looking for was the beginning of all stories, where there was a double-page spread of all the Astrals. Tilting it back to make sure he got Ignis’ attention, Noctis cleared his throat and tried to take on a grave voice, but what it became instead was all wobbly and watery. It was all Ignis could do to bite back a smile. “In the beginning the Astrals came and they were really lonely, because they hadn’t found each other. They haven’t even found Eos yet, so I bet they were really grumpy, too. I mean, can they find food in space? Can they fish?” The idea of fishing in space seemed to take over his attention and he gave up with his attempt at story telling already, turning the pages forward once more. When he found his page this time, he smacked at it with a small palm in emphasis. “This is my favorite picture though! It makes me happy!” 

Ignis knew the picture, but it still took him a moment to process the sight of it, especially in tandem with the knowledge that it was Noctis’ favorite. Even if favorite status should be short-lived with a child that age, Ignis couldn’t help but feel that it was something of a sign. Wasn’t that funny? He was a God, and yet there he was, looking for signs and omens in every action of a child. The picture that had shaken him so deeply depicted a time from his happier days. In it, Ifrit was holding the King of Stars close, cupping his small form in his palms, between warm jets of flame that seemed to shine but not burn, and which knit themselves around the King like a lover’s embrace. It was the same ugly, useless illustration that Ignis had already seen a dozen times already. But somehow, for some reasons, at the sight of it, the eyes on his human disguise began to sting. “Oh?” He said lamely, but still glad that at least his voice was not doing what it was not supposed to. “Is that right? Don’t you think it’d get rather hot, that close to the Infernian?”

[ ](https://monzy-atelier.tumblr.com/post/176411124045/ifrit-embraces-the-moral-illustration-to-this)

“Weeell…” Noctis pursed his lips in thoughts as he considered the logistics of hugging a literal pillar of flames with all the physics knowledge of his four-year-old brain. He cheered up visibly when he found an answer. “Well! The King looks happy, so it couldn’t be that hot, right? It’s probably only just a little warm... And anyhow, warm hugs are the best hugs.” He looked up to meet Ignis’ eyes, a soft, resigned expression on his face as he gave a little shrug. “I’m always a little cold. It’s fine!” He was hasty to add this little bit of reassurance, and Ignis wondered what had given him away, why Noctis had seen the need to set his mind at ease. “Dad told me we’re all that way in the family, so we’d never get all hot and sweaty when we have to wear black, even if it’s sunny out. Miss Claudia said it was just some silly story though, and there’s just something wrong with my heart that we should get checked.”

Ignis’ frown deepened a little more. Faced with such a provocation, he let go of his precautions and just took a peek into the fire of Noctis’ soul. It was yet small, nothing but a candle flame, but it was steady and clear, and it had the halo of potential for greatness. If this Miss Claudia was feeding Noctis first soggy green beans, and then plain lies, Ignis had some very serious concerns about her competence. “Your heart is quite fine,” Ignis told the little Prince, pretending to adjust his glasses to obscure whatever strange glint his eyes might hold. He knew mortal disguises tended to act in unexpected ways when divine magic was channeled through it, but he never really had the practice to know what his might do exactly. “I believe it is your father who has the right of it this time.”

“I know! I think so too.” Even as he spoke these words of reassurance, Noctis seemed so relieved. It both calmed Ignis’ nerves, and at the same time, made his anger at the nursemaid flare a little more. They were going to have words. Stern words. “So I guess I’ll just have to find someone to give me warm hugs and keep me from getting too cold. Dad does that already, of course, but he doesn’t really count, because that’s just what dads do, isn’t it? Do you think there’s someone else who’d love me so much they wouldn’t mind giving me warm hugs all the time?”

The sting in Ignis’ eyes hadn’t gone away. In fact, it’d gotten even worse, and it was causing problems. It was spreading to his nose, and he had to duck his head, removing the glasses to wipe at his eyes with his gloved hand. Still, it only helped a little. And his voice had started to crack again. How do humans live like this? “I’m sure you’ll find someone, Noctis,” Ignis said, his body shaking with the strength it took to hold back the urge to reach out to Noctis, to hold and comfort him. To let him know that he was loveable, despite what that spiteful nursemaid had said to him. But it was still too soon, and Ignis didn’t want to overwhelm Noctis with the intensity of his emotion. For he was sure, were they to touch, Noctis with his formidable intuition would sense the depth of the chasm that the millennium had opened up inside Ignis. The same chasm that Noctis’ presence had only begun to fill. So, instead Ignis sat back, and put together the most convincing of smiles to give the boy. “Why, what’s not to love about you?”

Young as he was, Noctis was not easily fooled. His instincts clearly had picked up the wrongness in Ignis’ expression, the stark contrast between what wanted to be a radiant smile, and the loneliness underneath. He frowned and opened his mouth, as if to say something, but then a call interrupted them. “Your Highness?” Miss Claudia called, loud and sharp, as she hurried through the hallway to the gardens. “Your Highness, who are you talking to? Don’t bother the guards, they have work to do.” She didn’t condescend to come all the way into the garden, and from under the shade of the corridor, her gaze slid right past Ignis, as if she didn’t see him at all. For a reckless moment Ignis considered throwing his cloak off so she could see him frowning at her with disapproval, but he contained that urge and buried it. Unchastised, the nursemaid continued, “Did you forget the time? Come now, you have piano lessons this evening!”

Not bothering to wait to see if she was obeyed, she turned and left, her heels clicking sharply on the marble corridor. Ignis grimaced at her back, but he quickly smoothed his expression into a neutral one as Noctis turned to look at him. “I’m very sorry, Ignis,” the little Prince said, gathering up his book with a little embarrassed smile. “But I have to go now. We can still talk another day. Can’t we?”

What else was there to say when the Prince was looking at him with such hopeful eyes? “Of course,” Ignis nodded, unfolding his legs and getting up so he could give him a formal bow. It made Noctis giggle, so he supposed it was still as charming a trick as it’d been the first time around. “I will let you know the next time I am around.”


	4. 3. noctis

Maybe there _was_ nothing to love about him, Noctis thought, as he curled deeper into the chair and gazed into the dark, dead depth of the fireplace.

It said a lot, about where Dad spent the most of his time, that the place that smelled most like him was not his bed, but this chair in his study. It was soft and cozy, and it made Noctis feel very tall indeed. The smallest shift in his weight made the chair swivel, and he let it turn around idly until it righted itself and faced the desk once more. He knew the chair could also tip almost all the way back, but no matter how much he leaned, he couldn’t quite make that happen. Maybe he wasn’t heavy enough yet. So he settled for curling up, drawing his legs up and hugging them to him. He knew he shouldn’t, because his sneakers were already leaving scuff marks on the soft leather. 

But he couldn’t help it. Lacking the comfort of Dad’s arms, this was the second-best thing, and stretching his imagination, it felt almost like a hug.

Noctis shouldn’t even be here, as the study was considered almost sacred ground by everyone else in the Citadel. The doors were locked to open only for the King himself. But Noctis had spotted an opening – not even a window, really, just a glass pane that was cracked open to let the air in to chase away the staleness and the dust. He’d warped up to the spot before squeezing himself through and warping right into the familiar chair that had seemed to beckon to him. 

He’d sat here many times, after all, as he told Dad about his day. So really Noctis supposed he was allowed on the chair after all, even if usually he needed the proxy of Dad’s lap. The round-about reasoning worked well enough for him, and it eased his guilt for trespassing into Dad’s space some. Now Noctis shifted, pressing his cheek to the back of the chair. The leather felt cool against his cheek, and it soothed the sting, though Noctis was sure that the angry red mark would still take a long time to fade. 

Thinking about it made his eyes and nose go hot again and Noctis swallowed back a sob. He’d always known that Miss Claudia enjoyed the occasions to take a break from him from time to time, and honestly? He’d thought it fair. Doesn’t he, himself, need a lot of time alone before he can handle people? But there was a vast difference between that, and knowing that not fondness, but only obligation bound her to him? That she thought him only a brat, a spoiled child that she had to babysit, while she’d rather be doing other things with her life? 

It’d hurt.

It’d hurt, and Noctis wasn’t even sure she was that wrong. Supposedly, he was a Prince, the most special of Princes even. But special Princes were supposed to be strong, or smart, and Noctis? He was just not good at things. He couldn’t read all that well yet, and he stuttered when he talked to new people. He was not growing fast enough; in fact, everyone said he was kind of small for his age. He couldn’t run or jump very high without magic, which was not even entirely his own but largely the blessing of the Crystal. His arms and legs were thin and soft like they would never grow strong and it wasn’t from lack of trying. Noctis had done his best to eat all the oatmeal and broccoli, and even the green beans – he really did. He couldn’t help that he couldn’t keep the food down, that once he’d managed to choke down a serving all he could do was to bring it all up. 

It was maybe normal then, that Miss Claudia didn’t like him. Maybe nobody in the country liked him at all and they were only too polite to say it aloud. Maybe whenever one of the Crownsguards waved at him, they were making secret prayers to the Astrals to turn Noctis into someone else, into a real Prince that they would be proud to fight alongside of. Only Dad had patience with Noctis, but lately he’d been away an awful lot, taking Clarus with him on never-ending trips, returning haggard and tired. He, too, was probably just occupying his time with other things as he waited for Noctis to finally become a son worthy of his heritage – whatever that meant. Noctis couldn’t even spell the word, how was he supposed to know what to do about it? Would he ever learn? 

Just the thought of having to become someone like Dad terrified him. And he knew that people expected even more, what with a prophecy naming him the King of Kings. How could anyone even know a thing like that? Did the idea just come to someone in their sleep, like a dream, or did the Crystal whisper it aloud for all of the court to hear? The prospect seemed terribly far and foggy, and as Noctis tried and failed to envision it he couldn’t help but feel his throat tighten in a panic. Stop it. Stop it. Princes don’t cry. And yet the tears were falling, hot, fat drops rolling down Noctis’ cheeks. As he opened his mouth to gasp he saw that his tears were leaving a damp spot on the leather backing of the chair, so he hurriedly gathered up the hem of his shirt and tried to scrub it out. But all he managed to do was to scruff the leather even more. 

In his distress, he did not notice much of what went on around him. He did not hear the soft _fwhump_ of a fire bursting into life in the fireplace, did not hear the crackle and groan of the dry, dusty firewood, or the roar of the fire as it consumed the dry kindling. Or, if he’d noticed any of those details, along with how the gentle scent of pine suddenly floated through the room and a dry warmth started to consume the staleness, he’d brushed all of them back to the background as he focused on his misery. Just like that, he missed out, also, on the soft voice that called out his name. 

The voice persisted, however. When it called again, this time a little more loudly, Noctis jumped, convinced that he had been caught in the middle of crying like a baby and making a mess of Dad’s study – all very unprincely behaviors. He turned around with a breath halfway lodged in his throat, until his blurry eyes finally picked up on the shape that emerged from the half-light. He recognized first the glasses, and the green eyes that definitely did not glow, but still reminded Noctis of fire. 

Warmth. Noctis remembered warmth.

“Ignis!” he bawled, for once not even remembering how he was supposed to keep up the pretense of princely regality. Every bit of dignity a four-year-old could muster had been stomped to bits beneath Miss Claudia’s sensible heels, and right now Noctis just wanted to hear a gentle, comforting voice. He just wanted to not feel cold, for a moment. The need was so urgent that it was almost unthinkable to take the time to physically cross the space that still separated him from comfort. Instead, from the chair, he shattered into a shower of crystal shards. And then, pulling together the pieces of himself, Noctis materialized on the other side of the desk, hurling himself at Ignis with the power of a desperation-fueled storm. 

Ignis caught him easily, neatly, with impeccable balance. Noctis felt arms wrap around him, pulling him close, until he was pressed against Ignis’ chest, his arms wrapped around the man’s shoulders and his nose buried into the side of his neck. Oh, the warmth. It was better than the golden afternoon sun, better than slipping into a bath where the water was very gently steaming. It was just like Dad’s hugs, the way the heat radiated from Ignis’ body, the way his hand moved to the back of Noctis’ head to cradle it. The humming underneath Noctis’ skin as he hugged Ignis with all his might was almost like the thrill of the warp. Only it was not the instantaneous exhilaration of one moment, but a constant. Something reliable and steadfast in the comfort it offered. 

Noctis thought he could stay here forever.

Ignis let him cry. He didn’t say anything, just secured his arms around Noctis and rocked him gently, as Noctis clutched at him with all four limbs and cried into his shoulder. Ignis’ hands were so careful, so steady, and Noctis soaked up every thimbleful of warmth he could pull from Ignis’ skin, using that strength to push the ugly, lonely feeling out of him in big, gasping sobs. It felt good. It was also exhausting. Noctis didn’t know how long he’d been crying, since the ticking of the clock didn’t mean anything without the sight of the turning hands to accompany it. The dimness of the unlit study with its windows shuttered wasn’t much indication of the passage of time either. The only measure of how much time had passed was how worn out Noctis felt, as his sobs eventually turned into quiet hiccups and he could bear to slightly peel his face from Ignis’ neck and look up at him. He felt drained dry, like a sponge that had been squeezed very thoroughly, but at the same time that spot in his heart that had felt cold and sticky with dread was empty now.

This was better than feeling wretched, Noctis decided. At least, now he could fill up that empty spot with something nice. 

Ignis was still not saying anything, and Noctis was glad for it. He wasn’t sure he’d find the words to answer if he was spoken to right now, with his head still thick and heavy with tears. Ignis had yet to set him down – just like Dad, Noctis mused. Every time Noctis asked to be carried Dad would complain that he’d gotten too heavy, and that Dad’s arms would surely fall off if he had to carry Noctis for too long. But Dad would always be smiling as he said it, and he would even laugh as Noctis started to clamber up his legs, grabbing big handfuls of his suit to make his own way up to his arms. Then, Dad would always put his arms around Noctis, and he’d never set Noctis down before he asked him to, either. 

From his pocket, Ignis pulled out a handkerchief – an actual handkerchief in fabric and all, not the tissue paper that Miss Claudia was forever telling Noctis to blow his nose into. The fabric was soft as Ignis dabbed it very gently against Noctis’ cheeks, carefully mopping up the tears and snots that had smeared his face all along. Noctis was embarrassed at how long Ignis had to do this, as it was an indication of how messy he’d looked, and how much more of the stuff Noctis had left on Ignis’ nice jacket. He started to duck his head, trying to turn away, and nearly fell off. The only thing preventing his untimely meeting with the hard floor was how Ignis had anticipated his movements and adjusted his balance, like someone juggling a difficult, squirming cat. Noctis thought the man would be angry now. But when Noctis’ eyes met his, all he could see on Ignis’ face was a soft expression of concern. He looked so genuinely worried; it gave Noctis the courage to attempt words, if they could only ease his mind some. 

“Thank you,” Noctis whispered, his voice rough from crying. This seemed to be the right words to offer, as the crease between Ignis’ brows eased a little and his mouth softened into a little smile. He nodded to Noctis as he put away the handkerchief, and he adjusted his grip so that Noctis was sitting as snugly as possible in his arms. Only then did Ignis speak, and his voice was as gentle and comforting as Noctis had remembered it to be.

“Are you alright?” He said, brushing Noctis’ hair from his face. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Did he want to tell Ignis what had happened? Noctis pondered this, turning over the novelty of the sentence’s structure. Usually, it was a command: tell me what’s wrong with you this instant. But the way Ignis had phrased it, there was no doubt that Noctis had a choice. And he found that he wouldn’t mind telling Ignis, either. He just needed to find his breath first, so he took a deep inhale, fortifying himself for the conversation to come. Still, the first words out of him were defensive. “I didn’t mean to,” he started, before anything else. And now that he’d started, the words just tumbled out of him and he couldn’t stop. “Miss Claudia got so mad at me… I was just—I just wanted to see the birds sitting outside on the spires, so I climbed up onto the windowsill. And I didn’t mean to—but I made the flower pot fall down. It broke, and it was so loud, and Miss Claudia jumped, but I promise, it wasn’t on purpose…” He sniffled again, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hands. And he looked to Ignis again for comfort. 

Except this time, it was something much more than concern that showed on Ignis’ usually serene face.

“Noctis,” Ignis said, and Noctis felt himself sitting up at attention immediately. Their postures had clearly shifted, Ignis drawing Noctis closer to him and changing the angle of his arms so Noctis was looking straight up at him. His expression was even more solemn than usual, and there was an intensity in his eyes that reminded Noctis of Dad, or even Clarus. They would wear that expression when they tried to act not too openly concerned to Noctis, or when they would whisper to each other while stealing glances at him. Noctis noticed them more often than they thought. 

“Noctis, listen very closely,” Ignis continued. “Miss Claudia was wrong to strike you.” That made Noctis startle a little, because he never actually said that was what happened, did he? He couldn’t remember. To his bewilderment, Ignis just gave a patient look, waiting for Noctis to process this so he could have Noctis’ full attention on the topic at hand again. Right, adults must have ways to figure these things out. They are so clever, and Ignis had glasses, so he must be extra clever too. “But you have to understand that you are not entirely blameless. It was a very careless thing that you did. It is not about the flower pot, do you understand? You do realize you will be seriously hurt if you were to fall, and you can hardly believe you can warp all the way back up the wall of the Citadel, not to mention to find purchase in all that glass and granite.” His voice cracked on the last few words, and he was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. “You put yourself at risk. Your nursemaid was probably terrified, and in her panic, she’d lashed out at you unjustly. I can tell you, Noctis: were I in her place, I would be terrified too. But it would never, never justify hitting you, no matter what.”

The way Ignis spoke the few last words made Noctis so ashamed. For a moment Ignis had looked so forlorn, sad and helpless – and Noctis hated to think this, but it was all because of him. He had caused that frown of distress to appear between Ignis’ brows. The sadness in him, that had seemed to be forgotten when they had started speaking, had welled up again. It took everything he had not to burst out crying. But it would be a baby thing to do, to just start bawling his eyes out like it’d help him get away with facing his error. It would be doubly baby, since Ignis had treated him, in all aspects, like an adult, calmly laying out the problems and explaining them to him as an equal. Dad had always said that the most important quality in a good ruler was to acknowledge errors so they could be fixed. And if Noctis wanted to become anything like him, he would have to start now. 

Blinking the tears back, he forced himself to meet Ignis’ eyes, and he nodded. “I understand. I thought it would be okay, because the windows were closed, and they don’t even open that far. But it was still bad. So I won’t do it again. I’ll only climb in the gardens where it’s safe from now on. It’s a promise.”

Ignis’ expression eased at that, and relief flowed in to fill whatever space that was still empty in Noctis’ heart. He’d learned his lesson today, and Ignis was pleased with his response. To be honest? Noctis was pleased with himself, too. He’d taken a bad thing and taken a good thing out of it, and now everything would be all better. For once, he felt a little more confident, a little more like the person that the rest of Lucis seemed to expect him to become. And Dad would surely react much like Ignis had: worried, for sure, at first, but then he would be proud of Noctis too.

“I probably shouldn’t be rewarding what you did, but you do need some cheering up,” Ignis murmured, more to himself than to Noctis it seemed, as he touched the tip of his gloved finger to Noctis’ red cheek. “Look what I brought you.” Seemingly out of nowhere he produced a neat paper box, tied at the top with twine. The box was blank so Noctis had no clue what it might contain, and it made his excitement spark immediately. Reaching out, he took the box with an enthusiastic ‘thank you’, before all but hugged the box to him as he unwrapped it.

Ignis held onto the side of the box to steady it as Noctis struggled with it, and eventually, Noctis uncovered his new treasure. Inside the paper box, were stacked two dozen or so cookies the size of coins. When Noctis reached out for one, it was clear that they fit perfectly into his small hand. He lifted one from the box with wonder, observing the tiny bit of dried fruits that had been folded in and sprinkled onto the top, perfectly even-sized and sharp-edged translucent, colorful jewels. As Noctis turned the cookie over in his hand, admiring it, Ignis spoke again. “I made them for you. It’s not close to dinner time, so I suppose you can try one and tell me if it’s good?”

“You made them for me?” Noctis all but gasped in awe. “All by yourself?” It blew his mind that people outside than chefs could actually cook. Noctis had never seen any of the Crownsguards or even his Dad do something as complicated as baking cookies. Carefully adjusting his grip around the cookie to make extra sure he wouldn’t drop it on accident, he nibbled on it, and his eyes immediately widened in unabashed delight. The cookie was sweet but not too much, and just the right texture: crispy on the outside, dense and chewy on the inside. The bits of dried fruits made the flavor and texture even more interesting, even if they did stick to Noctis’ teeth a tiny bit. “I love it!” he declared. “Thank you, Ignis.”

Now that he looked up, he could see that Ignis had looked a little uncertain, even tense. As if he wasn’t sure that Noctis would like the cookie. At Noctis’ words his expression relaxed a little, and so Noctis made sure to smile extra wide (even if there were still pieces of dry fruits stuck to his teeth). It seemed to surprise Ignis, whose whole-body start could be felt, but then his expression softened completely as he reached out to brush the crumbs from Noctis’ cheek. “I have yet to solve your problem with green beans, but this is a start,” he told Noctis, a smile on his face as he fished for another cookie in the box to give to Noctis. “I’m only starting to learn, so I’m counting on you to test out the recipes and tell me what can be improved. Stars willing, this is not just beginner’s luck, and I hope for more successes in the future. You can keep the rest if you like, but you have to promise not to have more than three each day. Okay?”

“Yes!” Noctis agreed enthusiastically. He wasn’t even disappointed that he couldn’t polish off the cookies in one go. This way, he could have them for longer, and appreciate them that much more. And once he finished them? If Ignis’ words were any indication, then he would have plenty more to try out later. 

The happiness swept him up and buoyed him, and Noctis almost didn’t realize how tired he was. He didn’t remember how long he’d spent in Ignis’ arms, chattering away, asking every question he could think of. He didn’t remember how he’d fallen asleep, or how he’d made it to his room, tucked neatly under the cover. The box of cookies was on his bedside table. Miss Claudia didn’t come to see him. A Crownsguard looked in on him, shifting on her feet nervously as she told him Miss Claudia had been dismissed, and that his father was on the way back. 

Noctis didn’t quite understand how so much happened while he slept, but he was content. For now, he only needed to make sure to save Dad at least one cookie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, no graphic details of Miss Claudia's demise. :P


	5. 4. ignis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miss Claudia's demise, here by popular demand :3c  
> This chapter was a little hard to write for some reason, but here it is at last. Thank you for all the comments and we'll keep working hard to keep that good stuff coming!  
> Please let us know what you think! Every comment means the world to us!

After long years of existence – spanning back from before the birth of Eos itself – and enduring practice in patience, Ignis finally had to come to the conclusion that there was no mastering the art of letting go. 

Warned as he had been, constantly, against meddling with human affairs, he did not regret meeting with Noctis in the lonely gloom of the King’s unlit study. Levi could make all the comments that she liked about how soft he had become, allowing himself to be swayed by the sobs of a single child, and a misbehaving one at that; Ignis knew that he had done right. It was nothing like the kind of divine interventions that Shiva was so adamantly cautious about. In fact, the interaction that Ignis had brought to Noctis was nothing but human in its nature. He offered no miracle, no magical fixes, merely reasons presented in simple words so even a child could follow the logic, and comfort to make the metaphorical pill pass more easily. 

And to think that Noctis’ nursemaid (former nursemaid now, to Ignis’ satisfaction) lacked that human touch so sorely that even the Astral commonly perceived as beastly and antisocial could do better. Truly, it was enough to make the stars weep. 

Ignis had briefly entertained the regret of not being able to string Miss Claudia up in front of a sacrificial altar and burn her into ashes where the whole of Insomnia could see as a precautionary tale. However, such practice was apparently considered doubly as barbaric now as it had been at the beginning of Eos. Not to mention how easily the gesture would be wrongly perceived as an act of godly favoritism, which was frowned upon by every system of mythology the humans had ever invented, and for good reasons. To be able to exact his revenge upon the nursemaid, he had to be subtler than that. 

He did this by stoking the flame of righteousness in the hearts of the Crownsguards who had seen Noctis punished with solitude every other day, snapping them awake from the haze of their everyday duties and struggles so that they could see the pattern and realize the wrongness in it. He further encouraged their conscience with a touch of persuasion – Fine, perhaps this technically counted as manipulation, but he had made sure to use a light touch, no heavier than the mist that covered the city in the morning, easy for even the most impressionable minds to bounce back from. With the power of impression and inspiration that was inherent to every God, he’d convinced more than one Crownsguard that they had seen Miss Claudia strike at Noctis at some point. It was enough. It reassured him somewhat of the human ability to tell right from wrong, that the issue nagged at most of them until they finally convinced themselves to speak out. 

Information travelled fast in this age, and as soon as the royal chamberlain had been warned he wasted no time in grilling the truth out of the wayward nursemaid. Her job was suspended, formally and effective immediately, and the King was notified with no details to spare. Dismayed and even slightly furious at himself for letting such a detail slip past his attention, the King cut short his trip to return to the Citadel, taking over the care of his son himself until a more suitable candidate could be found. Within the space of an afternoon – no longer than the time it took for Noctis to take a nap to recover from his bout of crying – the situation had been changed and for the better. 

Was it too much? Ignis certainly didn’t think so. He was proud of how brave Noctis was – facing his errors and admitting to them in a way that most grown men, infested with egoism, wouldn’t be able to manage. He refused to let the little Prince’s noble nature perish under the care of an insensitive nursemaid. Especially since Noctis would have to call on many of his qualities, innate or hard-earned through lessons and practice, if he was to face with the hardships prophesied in his future. 

Thus, it was with the distinct satisfaction of a job well done that Ignis watched from the shadows as King Regis seemed determined to somehow make up for his absence. For several days the little Prince was allowed to accompany his father the King to all his meetings and functions. A Crownsguard was appointed to the Prince’s protection, though her job was more to provide proper crayons and paper and to make sure His Highness’ phone was well charged so he could entertain himself by playing games through the long, tedious speeches, if needed. 

Ignis’ contribution had brought only small improvements, but they were utterly necessary in the long run. And it certainly didn’t hurt to be able to see Noctis smile so widely and babbling so happily as his father listened. If the King had any reservation about Noctis’ mystery cookies, well, he certainly kept his investigation inconspicuous. The Astrals (of which, only one really counted in this situation) remained unoffended. 

*

Noctis’ new nursemaid went by the name of Jessamine. She was sharper than Claudia, yet infinitely kinder, and had a voice that reminded Ignis of milk and honey. She had a softer touch with the piano, and she possessed the secret of sneaking shredded cabbage (sometimes even spinach) into Noctis’ dinners undetected, that Ignis had yet to successfully replicate.

She was, at this very moment, dying. 

In less than three seconds, her life-blood would empty from her, and she would be dead. 

It would’ve suited Ignis better to say that he had not seen this coming. It would ease so many burdens off his mind, to fool himself that he hadn’t had a part to play in this young and promising girl’s early demise. More important than all her competences and potentials, she had possessed true compassion, which Ignis had learned was a rare quality in the world, even if Eos had become much kinder than he had known it in the old days. It made her loss even more regrettable, and still he’d put her at Noctis’ side and left her to perish.

He could not plead ignorance. He was a god, and while he was far from omniscient or all-powerful, the truth of her fate had been known to him all along. Everyday he’d cast a comet into the sea of stars, sounding for the echoes of the future. On some days, the stars were kind enough to whisper to him. Warnings, reassurances, promises – it didn’t matter. With star-fire at his very core, he heard their voices more clearly than even his divine brothers and sisters. Over the years, he’d become adept enough at reading the stars to be able to interpret this outcome from the very first glance. 

And yet he did not a thing. 

Since he had carried Noctis, sleeping soundly in his arms, back to his room from King Regis’ study, Ignis was careful not to risk being noticed by the Prince again. He perfected his Crownsguard disguise enough to blend right into the background whenever he had the urge to check in on Noctis, careful to keep his eyes hidden behind dark glasses. However, the disguise itself was only a superfluous precaution. Knowing Noctis’ ability to pierce even his best illusion, the main way Ignis could remain undetected was to put a crowd between the two of them and resign himself to watching from afar. 

It was rewarding, of course, to be able to see Noctis with his own two eyes, even from a distance. Some days, Ignis felt like only the sight of those blue eyes sustained him through the terrible longing that clawed its way inside him, as if trying to scrape him hollow. But beyond that, Ignis preferred actually making changes to Noctis’ life over staring and mooning at him from a distance. The real improvements were made in the background, and every day he was getting more creative with that mission. 

On some days, Ignis posed as a training officer to the Crownsguards as he imparted with them the finer understandings of magic, sharing the techniques they could use to fight it properly. Sometimes he was within the Crownsguards himself, receiving trainings on combat and catching up on the new technology in warfare, marveling at the lengths humans would go to kill each other. Those were hard days, and afterwards Ignis liked to lose himself in the kitchen, hiding away from prying eyes in the steam of the boiling pots and smoking pans. At first he only contented with collecting and copying recipes, growing bolder each day until he was confident enough to come up with a few of his own. His goal, of course, was to devise a balanced diet for a small human being, all while making sure every item on the menu was adequately appetizing. His latest project was to make Noctis’ snacks healthier, so the Prince could have a little reward now and then without it being an unhealthy indulgence. So far, carrot cake had proven to be a resounding failure, but Ignis did not lose hope.

Those were trivial achievements at the service of paltry ambitions, and Ignis knew it. Even in the comfort of the royal kitchens, remaining on the edge of the attendants’ attention while he let the sound of their chatters and the muted noises of their utensils envelop him in calmness, Ignis was not deaf and blind to the roads the world was headed down. While it still made him happy to impact Noctis’ life in small ways, the apparent futility of it was enough to make even an Astral feel inadequate. The darkness and its daemons grew bolder – meanwhile, the humans fought each other ever more bitterly. The Empire’s tenacity wore down Lucis’ defense and sapped at King Regis’ strength and vitality as he tried and failed to keep his people safe. For all that he sacrificed to the Crystal for its protection, he was unable to help as the Empire preyed on his son in his own kingdom. 

What was the point, Ignis had screamed at Shiva bitterly. What was the point to smooth out the little wrinkles in Noctis’ life, if he couldn’t lift a finger to stop this monstrous daemon from tearing it all apart? Why could he do no more than watch the slaughter of Noctis’ retinue, unable to stop all that violence and aggression from homing in on the Prince himself- a blameless, defenseless child? Where was the sense in ensuring that Noctis have the best nursemaid to look after him if he could not stop her from being murdered, trampled by the daemon on a warpath? What was the point in making sure Noctis’ diet had vegetables in it, if he could not put himself between Noctis and the daemon that could very well end his life?

The coldness of Shiva’s reply sobered him as always. Did he really think he was the only one to ask these questions, she’d asked, the frost over her lashes hiding the pain in her eyes. Did he really believe that the prophesied True King was the only to suffer? What about his Oracle, whose home was practically in the Empire’s shadows and too far from the Crystal to benefit from its safeguard? Shiva had watched her own charge for years before Noctis even came to life, and her advice to him was unwavering: The Astrals could not interfere in human machinations. If history was clear on anything, it was this: that the humans were intent on making their own fate. One indelicate touch, and Ignis might upset the balance, dooming his precious mortal King instead of helping him, and overturn the fate of the world with it. 

He might not care for the fate of the world, but this was what he needed to consider: if Ignis just discard every obstacle on Noctis’ path for him, the True King might never learn to fight on his own. 

Would Ignis condemn Noctis to depend on crutches for the rest of his life?

All of this was good advice. And yet they did nothing to take the bitterness, or the ugliness away. Ignis thought he would much prefer to have his eyes gouged out than watch the daemon slash down with its six glaives, each slice closer to Noctis than the last. His instincts were screaming for fire, for destruction as a form of protection. Only Shiva’s arms around him kept him from screaming his rage into the stars, and inside his head he repeated the King of Stars’ words, whispered to him when they had parted for the last time: Humanity was not beyond redemption, and their love was all the proof he would need for it.

When King Regis finally arrived to chase off the daemon, Ignis wept with relief.

[ ](https://monzy-atelier.tumblr.com/post/176952287870/shiva-comforts-ifrit-my-illustration-for-this)

* 

Noctis was safe, now, tucked in his own bed and secure in his own room. He had yet to wake. It’d been a week since the attack, and the nurses had being doing a good job taking care of his unconscious body, washing the blood off of him and changing him into fresh, clean clothing every day. Ignis was glad to note that the clothes they had dressed Noctis in were his own pajamas and not some kind of scratchy, impersonal hospital gown (today’s were Noctis’ favorite, it fact, a baby teal pair with goldfish crackers printed on it). The doctor had come and gone, done with their visit and examinations for the day. Now they convened in the hall outside Noctis’ room to report their findings to the King. Their murmured conversation echoed in through the dark, but Ignis paid it no mind. All he had eyes for was the dim flame of Noctis’ soul.

It was still there, its flickering as soft as the flutter of a wounded bird’s wings. But it had its potentials intact. It just required a little nursing.

Even knowing this, Ignis couldn’t help but feel doubt grip at his heart-flame constantly. Noctis was all but out of his reach, barred from his interventions. What if the flame would go out unexpectedly and Noctis would never wake up? What if he woke up so utterly changed he would never be the same? Worse, what if he woke up and rekindled his flame, only for it to be snuffed out later? Knowing the prophecy, it would happen eventually, and Ignis didn’t know if he would manage to figure things out to stop the wheels of fate before it was too late. 

As of the moment, he felt like he was capable of not much at all. 

A gasp from Noctis made him jolt upright, nearly sending his chair flying. Ignis scrambled for balance and allowed himself to lose, crashing down onto the floor on his knees, next to Noctis’ bed. He had just the presence of mind to turn the nightlight on low, so Noctis would have a gentle glow to see by when he opened his eyes – It wouldn’t do to have Noctis wake up to the terror of a stranger leaning over him in the dark. It took a long time, but the Prince finally pulled himself through, and Noctis blinked up at the ceiling, taking in the familiar sight of his glow-in-the-dark stars. As awareness took over and reality slowly registered, so did the pain, and it was then that Noctis’ breathing quickened as his eyes scanned the room frantically, looking for something more than inanimate decorations to reassure him. 

That was when Ignis spoke out. “Noctis,” Ignis said, leaning forward a little so the light from the nightlight shone on his features. “Noctis, be calm. I’m here. Your father is right outside. You’re safe here.” 

It broke Ignis’ heart to see how Noctis immediately latched onto his presence, how his entire body relaxed in the comfort and safety that it seemed to promise to him. This made Ignis ever more ashamed, to see Noctis’ trust in him intact despite having failed him so spectacularly. He’d watched Noctis brush with death and had not done a single thing to help. Still, burning with shame as he was, Ignis couldn’t stop himself from taking Noctis’ hand when the boy reached out. Clasping it firmly in his own as he leaned a little closer to make out Noctis’ terribly soft voice, the edges of his words raspy were they caught in his throat.

“Ignis,” Noctis whispered as he made a valiant attempt to squeeze Ignis’ hand. “Ignis, I’m scared.” He’d almost been hasty to speak out these words, as if he was afraid that once Ignis was gone there would be no one else he could confess this to. He tried to turn ever so slightly, and even that caused a cry of pain to slip from his lips. “Why can’t I—Why can’t I move? What did the daemon do to me? It hurts.”

“Don’t be scared, Noctis,” Ignis murmured to him, his entire body aching with love for the little Prince. Even now, flat on his back and overrun with pain, Noctis tried to defy it, struggling to move even if every small victory brought a fresh wave of tears to his eyes. Ignis hushed him and kept talking, hoping his words would at least make Noctis less restless. As he spoke, his free hand came to brush the stray hair from Noctis’ face, then rest against his cheek. “You’re safe now. You were brave—you did very well.” That seemed like scant enough comfort. Noctis deserved to know the facts, and Ignis could give them to him without making them sound like a doctor’s checklist. “I won’t hide this from you—you were hurt quite badly. The daemon got you on your back, near the spine, and that is why you are having trouble moving. You must be still, so as not to hurt yourself further.” It worked, though Ignis suspected Noctis was only lying so still because he was terrified. “It will heal, I promise you that. But you will have to take care, do as the doctors tell you, and exercise. You will be in a great deal of pain.” He pressed his palm closer to Noctis’ cheek, willing some of his warmth to transfer to the boy’s clammy, sallow skin, to take the edge off of his warning. “I just want you to remember that it is only temporary, and the pain will go away once you are recovered. I want you to remember that it won’t always be this bad.”

Noctis seemed smaller than ever, flattened to his bed in fear. He was so young. Too young to imagine a lifetime of pain, and the prospect of it must seemed more than daunting. But his blue eyes were steady where they found Ignis’, the tears making them seem like the night full of stars. There was strength there, steel at his core, and as Ignis realized this, suddenly he had answers to all his questions, all his doubts. He could not predict the future where Noctis was concerned, he could not even be sure to be able to protect Noctis from every harm that would befall him. But he would be able to bear the uncertainty, the same way the humans live with it all their life: by having faith. Even at this age, Noctis had proven himself worthy of faith, and Ignis would support him, unwavering and without question, to the very end.

“Do you promise?” Noctis whispered. With his small hand he tried his best to tug Ignis to him, as if worried he’d miss a word Ignis said if he wasn’t close enough. His eyes, blue as they were, seemed like they were burning. Noctis’ demand was one of a King’s, and not to be ignored. “Do you promise I’ll be okay again, one day?”

“I promise,” Ignis said, and he made himself believe it with every ember in his heart-flame. He found that it was no hard feat, not when he’d found his resolution and found his anchor in Noctis. He even allowed himself to smile, to break the careful neutral expression that he usually wore when he was close to Noctis, for fear of being found out for who he really was. It would be foolish to hide his love, now that Noctis could use every source of strength to dwell on. “I promise you will be okay. And I will be here to see you, when that day comes.”

It seemed like the truth of the words didn’t matter, in the end. Noctis just needed to hear them, and as soon as he did, his posture seemed to relax. Though tears still spilled from his eyes, tears that he was not even bothering to wipe clean, Noctis’ body had gone lax and he looked less haunted. Less like a man tottering over the edge as he looked right into the daunting depth of despair. He closed his eyes, and even as what little energy he’d regained drained from him, pulling him into sleep, his last confession was clear. “I’ll be—happy, to see you then. I hope it won’t be long. I really missed you.”


	6. 5. noctis

When Noctis admitted to Lunafreya that he’d dreaded the trip to Tenebrae, he was more than a little apprehensive. He fully expected her to huff at him and leave him to himself for such blatant rudeness. Instead, she just dipped her head and pretended to tuck away that strand of silvery hair that was forever hanging over her ear. Noctis knew that she was pretending, because just a moment later she looked up and he could see that she was covering her mouth with her other hand and giggling.

“I suppose that’s only fair,” she smiled, tucking away the other strand. Now Noctis could see her face clearly, without anything in the way. “You are not in the best of shapes, and it is a long way to travel. All this only for company, not for healing – At the current state of my powers, there’s little enough I can help you with, physically.”

“That’s not true,” Noctis told her earnestly, leaning forward a little. Her bed was soft without being overly so, and it helped him keep the straight posture that caused him the least pain. With Umbra in his lap, providing support to his front, Noctis felt very little discomfort if any at all. “Talking with you really helps me feel better, Luna. And there’s something about Tenebrae… Dad says it’s the clean air? That’s supposed to help. Not that Insomnia air is dirty, okay?” He added hastily, worried Luna would get the wrong idea. He did want her to show her around the Citadel sometime, which would not happen if he spoke as if the air there was dirty enough to leave soot marks on her white clothes, white skin, and almost white hair. He’d been trying his very best to show Insomnia to her in a good light. “It’s just… nice here. Healthy. I’m not even that sick anymore, though. The first few weeks after the—the attack, I couldn’t even get out of bed… But now I can. The wheelchair is only here for when I get tired.”

It was still hard to speak of the incident. Sometimes Noctis found himself wishing for it all to be a dream. Very soon he’d come to realize that the pain in his back wasn’t even the worst thing about it. In fact, if he’d had a choice, it wouldn’t be the first thing he’d wish away. Noctis believed he could live with the pain, if in exchange he’d never had to hear the horrible sound the daemon’s sword rending through the metal of the cars, or the dull thud of blade on flesh as the daemon sliced up one guard after another, butchering them like poultry. Like meat. He’d give much to forget the rush of wet, hot, sticky blood washing over him as Miss Jessamine’s body fell on top of his, or the rattle of her breath as the light dimmed in her eyes. 

It had dismayed him more than anything, rendered him truly paralyzed, to witness what death did to a person. To realize how completely it transformed Miss Jessamine’s soft, sweet song-bird voice into this rattling, clicking, wheezing that was gruesome in its inhumanity. Worst of all was the indignity of it, this process where a person became only a thing, completely helpless as they were laid bare for all to see, an object to be scraped off the ground, washed clean of the messy things that it had required to function, before finally being put away.

But then again, if that attack hadn’t been real, then it meant Noctis hadn’t really seen Ignis in the darkness of his room. It meant he hadn’t, for a moment, felt something like starlight pour through his veins. It made no sense and Noctis knew that – How could you feel starlight? But it was the only image he could come up with to describe that feeling that had resonated in him the moment he’d latched onto Ignis’ bare skin: something steadfast, like Dad’s love, but much brighter, blazing even, unashamed in its ability to shine so bright it blinded; so patient, older than Eos itself and would continue to be there long after they were all gone. 

No, Noctis had gone such a long way since then to want to wipe that experience away completely. He had learned things, and they were not all pleasant, but in the end, the most important lesson that he had learned was that he was strong enough. 

He supposed that he was very lucky, to have the very best care and help from the nurses and doctors. They had done their best to keep him comfortable, coaxing him to stay awake for longer stretches of time during the first few days, where he had wanted nothing more but to sink back to sleep and pretend none of this was happening. They’d brought him books and kept him company, and from time to time the kitchen would send up something new and exciting to break up the tedium of the nutritious but plain food that made up much of Noctis’ diet these days. 

When he had recovered enough there had been the physical therapy to deal with. Noctis’ apprehension had been nowhere near enough to prepare him for the grueling toil that the first session had been. The exercises had been so very simple – even a baby could lift his legs or wriggle his toes, and all without thinking too. And yet Noctis had sweated and gritted his teeth through the entire ten minutes session, only to finish feeling like he’d been permanently bolted to his chair, with a rod of metal rammed down his back. In pain and especially terrified at his inability to move even an inch, Noctis had not been glad to return to his room to find a brand-new, shiny Cosmogony on his bed. The sight of it had taunted him, the glossy cover winking mockingly, and he’d swept it right off of the bed before throwing himself over the cover, burying his head under the pillow, crying. 

He’d worn himself out with the tantrum before he even calmed down. As it was, Noctis all but had passed out crying. He had woken in the middle of the night, alone but for the Carbuncle figurine that Dad had placed beside his pillow, the blue-green crystal reflecting the dim glow from the nightlight into pale freckles of light on his bed. His head hurt, and his eyes felt like they were encrusted in grit. Rubbing at them, Noctis was still mustering the strength to sit when he turned and spied the Cosmogony on his bedside table. A nurse must have picked it up when she’d righted him and tucked him in. Seeing the book sent the rush of the misery he’d felt earlier through him again, but this time it lacked the edge of anger, especially when he noticed a crease in the spine of the book and a bulge where the pages had been curled from lying face down on the floor. 

Instead, Noctis suddenly felt a wave of crushing wretchedness. Wasn’t it enough that he was damaged for life? Did he really have to go and do that to something else, too?

It had been a struggle to get his arms under him and gradually push himself up. Noctis nearly flung the crystal Carbuncle off the bed, scrambled to rescue it, then carefully set it aside on the nightstand out of harm’s way, before resuming his struggle, bracing himself with as many pillows as he could until he was mostly upright, but still reclined and comfortable. From there it was only the matter of lifting the Cosmogony and placing it into his lap. It was heavy enough to almost be a struggle, the pages made of thick paper stock with full color illustrations. There were stories Noctis had not known yet, but for now he just leafed on ahead to see the pictures. 

It didn’t take long for Noctis to pick out a favorite. There was an image that had never been used before, where the Infernian didn’t seem as wild or beastly as in other illustrations. In fact, he appeared mostly tamed if not for the great crown of horns and flames: he looked about the size of a human – even if he was still a great deal taller than his mortal love – and was wearing human clothes. This was the first time ever Noctis saw him drawn inside of a building, and not just under a sky full of stars. He was holding the Mortal close, and the two of them were moving together over what was obviously a dance floor, recognizable by its vast expanse of polished marble. The illustration was very meticulous, depicting in great details the members of the court, who stood in a ring around the dancers. Noctis knew he’d have a good time picking out the face of each courtier, as well as tracing the touches of gold foil embellishments in the corners and borders of the pages.

  
[ ](https://monzy-atelier.tumblr.com/post/177387413520/ifrit-and-the-mortal-kings-dance-my)  


But at the moment, what appealed most to Noctis was the sense of movement the picture conveyed. The ease with which the dancers traversed the dance floor was so vivid, Noctis could almost close his eyes and feel the rush of air over his face, the slight vertigo of the spins, even imagine how the sound of laughter becoming first close then distant as he’d whirl as close as he could to the ring of watchers, teasing, making them draw back in alarm, receding like a tide, before pulling away back to the empty center where he had all the space he wanted to move—

It was not a memory, not really. It couldn’t have been – Noctis had yet to receive any dancing lessons, and really, he was too shy to even think about trying that with someone else. What he had felt had only been his imagination, Noctis knew this. But whatever had come into his head at that moment, it had felt so good it left no room anymore for despair. There had been no doubt left in him as Noctis decided for himself that he’d make it happen. He wanted to be able to move, to walk, to run. To dance. And if the only thing that could help him was the exhausting, humiliating physical therapy, then he’d have to take it.

It still felt a little surreal to be here. Here, in this place, with Lunafreya at his side. The wheelchair was abandoned for now; Noctis had gotten out of it himself. He’d need it later, when he would get tired, but he could manage for now. Noctis didn’t even hate the wheelchair anymore; over the course of his recovery he’d learned to make peace with it. It was a necessity, a tool to help him get better, and it was slowly fulfilling its functions. It’d felt like years, but Dad had assured Noctis it’d only been six months. Noctis couldn’t even begin to fathom how many ten-minute sessions of physical therapy had been crammed into those six months. Whatever the number, they had done their job, and here he was.

Lunafreya spoke now, tilting her head with a gentle smile. “I know you are better. I can feel that your pain has diminished greatly.” Her eyes were so soft, so sad, and she put her hand on his tentatively. Noctis wondered if she really meant it when she said she could feel his pain. Nobody should feel his pain. Then, in her way of knowing he had more to say, she prodded him gently. “Then what was the reason? What worried you about visiting Tenebrae? Oh no, don’t say it’s our food. Is it our food?”

Noctis felt his ears redden. Luna had definitely seen him sneak the carrot from his plate into his napkin at the previous dinner. And the dinner before that. It kind of blew Noctis’ mind that chefs everywhere have the same idea of what constituted a healthy meal for children. “Carrots are gross no matter where they are,” he managed in as prim a voice as he could, and narrowed his eyes when Luna nodded her head wisely at that. She looked dead serious, but he could tell she was still holding back laughter. That was enough to make Noctis steer the topic to another direction in a hurry. “No, mostly I was just… worried about meeting new people. You’re gonna be the next Oracle and everything, and I’m just—I’m not good with company.”

That was before he had gotten to know Luna, obviously. Knowing her now as he did, he felt that past-him had been silly to worry at all. And he definitely would’ve looked forward to the visit a bit more if he’d known she had dogs. _Two_ dogs. The fact that they were Divine Messengers didn’t bother him at all. After all, it didn’t bother them from acting like proper dogs.

It surprised him to hear what Luna said next. “I can relate to that. It can be hard to talk to new people, and the settings are sometimes so formal. It doesn’t make things easy.”

“But Luna, aren’t you used to this?” The question was immediate. “I see you on TV a lot, and the other day, at the reception, you knew all your manners.” He pouted a little. “You always talk in long sentences with hard words, and you hardly ever stutter either. You’re better at this than I am.”

“Can you keep a secret?” She looked at him solemnly, and Noctis nodded eagerly, scooting a little closer. Huddled together, their backs formed a shield against intruders, and still Luna cupped a hand over her mouth as if to provide yet more cover to her words. “I just got very good at pretending. I told myself that it ought to be easier, to speak before strangers, and in time, I came to believe it. But in the end, it just seemed that I made everyone a stranger to me. Or is it the other way around? I made myself a stranger…” She paused at this, as if the thought was too much to consider, and now Noctis could spot a little awkwardness in her movements as she smoothed over her dress. “Sometimes I forget that I’m not with strangers, that I don’t have to talk all properly anymore. It… worries me. Do you think anyone would notice if Lunafreya disappeared, as long as the Oracle is still in place?”

Her calm, steady voice broke a little at the word “Oracle”, and Noctis felt his heart clench. He remembered vividly sitting in Dad’s darkened study, questioning his place in the world. Luna had seemed so old and wise, but at her core, in her essence, she was just like him, and she had allowed him to know this. It was only his duty to reassure her and to share whatever wisdom he’d managed to glean for himself. “Of course people would notice,” he asserted in the way that Dad had tried to teach him. He had no idea if he was doing it right, but the shift in his tone had drawn Luna’s attention somewhat. Good. “I think it’s hard to pretend to be nice and kind if you are not, but you are. I think you’re letting more of yourself show than you give yourself credit for. More people know you than you think. Your mom knows you, your brother knows you.” Even if he was kind of mean, Noctis added to himself. “You’re not a stranger to them. And I dunno, I think you’re not a stranger to me, either. I don’t know you as the future Oracle. I can’t even say your real name! You’re just—You’re just Luna to me.”

He was all but inviting her to make fun of him, at his inability to string together four syllables, if it meant it’d make her feel better. But Luna seemed to truly take heart in his words, and there was a hint of rosiness in her cheeks when he said the name, “Luna”. She was happy, he realized. Noctis had done that. “Thank you, dear Noctis,” She murmured, their heads still tilted together. “I will gladly remain Luna to you.”

*

Noctis liked the gardens in Tenebrae, too. The stylleblossom field had been impressive, but from what Luna had explained, it was considered all but sacred and he had seen it only once. He didn’t mind, because there were plenty of other places in the garden that were just as nice. Before Luna had to go off for her piano lessons she had wheeled him out here and shown him this bench, hidden snugly between the tall grass and rose vines, and as Noctis studied his new Cosmogony he was kept company by the soft splashing of water running into the marble fountain nearby. It was very calming, just the thing to soothe Noctis’ nerves after a long day of greeting adults and being on his best behavior. 

He was distracted, though. He was not at home, and the scenery was new. As it was, it took only a flutter of the grass, or a single petal falling, for him to be reminded of where he was. In that state, it didn’t take long for Noctis to notice another presence in the garden with him. He was on his guard immediately. Luna had introduced him to Gentiana – or, more accurately, Gentiana had introduced herself physically and Luna had just provided the commentary. While Luna had stressed how close she was with the Divine Messenger, how she was practically family, Noctis still couldn’t get used to her habit of just appearing out of nowhere to speak to him like she’d been there all along.

But it wasn’t Gentiana. The figure that Noctis spied across the fountain, with its black clothes and crisply styled hair, was as out of place here as he was. And yet he was so familiar that Noctis’ body was up and moving before the name even properly registered in his brain. In a single flash his entire being became the drive to move forward, to be closer, to throw his arms around and to press himself up to the warmth that had spelled so much comfort to him. 

Noctis stumbled on the last step, but he wasn’t about to let that spoil his plan. He gathered the power of his momentum and launched himself forward, colliding face-first into Ignis’ tummy. His weight toppled the man over and he went down like a felled tree, to the thankfully soft grass of the garden. Noctis squeezed his eyes shut and clung to him until they had settled, and then he was on his hands and knees, climbing up the man’s stupidly tall frame to hug him around the chest. Laying there on Ignis’ chest, he could hear the laughter bubble up as the man gently laid a hand on the top of his head. 

It was the first time he’d heard Ignis laugh. The man had always seemed so kind yet solemn, Noctis had had no idea his laughter could sound so soft and bright. It made him grin widely, as he pushed himself up just enough to smack Ignis square on the chest, which just made the laughter come again. “You are so late!” he accused. “You said you’d come when I am better, and you took so long! I thought you’d never come!”

“Indeed,” Ignis said with a resigned expression, reaching up to right his glasses. He had not made any attempt to sit up, and now he just stretched out like he’d accepted that his place was right here. Like there was nothing more comfortable than to lie half-way in a garden flowerbed with a bony eight-year-old sitting on him. His eyes were intent as they scanned over Noctis, and Noctis sat up even straighter to show him how good his posture could be now. That made Ignis smile, the corner of an eye crinkling with amusement. “I see you’ve done well with your recovery.” A beat of pause, and he was serious again, the focus of his whole attention bearing into Noctis. “Was it hard?”

Noctis pressed his lips together. How was he to find the words for what he’d gone through? “It was hard,” he said finally with a nod, accepting that the word was good enough for now. He watched Ignis carefully arrange his expression into one of neutral interest. It was funny how Noctis was able to see all this at a glance while he’d seen Ignis all of three times, but he was sure of himself. He knew Ignis was hiding discomfort, maybe even sadness, and Noctis was supposed to offer something to soften the truth. “Sometimes, it wasn’t so bad. It was just so much harder when I was tired. But now I’m better! I won’t ever have to do that again. And I know that if I ever have to, I could.” 

Ignis was quiet for a long time, just watching him. Noctis wondered if his expression would crumble with sadness, again, like it had that first time Noctis had seen him. It was a near thing, but it seemed it helped for Noctis to be so close. Like this, Ignis only needed to reach out a hand and pat Noctis’ head again. “You are a pure marvel, Noctis.” His voice didn’t crack, but it was a close thing, Noctis could tell. “You are so much better, and I can’t put to words how glad I am to see you well. You’ve only started to recover, so you must not push yourself. But know that I am proud of how hard you’ve been working, and how brave you’ve been.” 

Noctis smiled. In fact, he was sure he giggled a bit, when he felt Ignis’ hand on top of his head. “I won’t overdo it, I promise. It’s just… so hard to sit still now! It’s silly, but I’m worried that if I don’t move my legs all the time, they’ll forget what it’s like to be moving again.” Another, more urgent question just pressed itself up at that moment though, a small fear shouldering its way ahead of all the other feelings that was making Noctis’ chest so full right now. “I’m so glad to see you. You won’t disappear, just because I’m better, right? You know you can stay. Gentiana does, she’s around all the time. You’re like her, aren’t you? If she can stay, you can too.”

Ignis blinked at him in surprise, and Noctis smiled at him nervously but also shrugged his shoulder, matter-of-factly. Yeah, the adults were always surprised when Noctis pointed out a pattern. And yet it was so obvious! Every time Ignis had come to him Noctis had been in some kind of trouble, and he was still so surprised to realize that Noctis had noticed. Noctis waited patiently as Ignis opened his lips, started to say something, and stopped. Oh no. Did Noctis make him sad again?

“I will not disappear,” was what he’d said finally. “I might not be around always as Gentiana is, but I promise you I am closer than it seems. I will be watching your progress, and I give you my word we’ll see each other again.” 

“Sometime soon? When I’m not in trouble?” Noctis wheedled. Later, he would realize how impertinent it’d been to ask for personal favor of a Divine Messenger. But at the moment, he was still a child, shameless and excusable in his ignorance. “Where we could just talk?”

“Soon, Noctis,” Ignis said. And Noctis was content with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please visit Monzy's art tumblr: https://monzy-atelier.tumblr.com/


	7. 6. noctis

Tenebrae was burning.

Noctis couldn’t see the smoke rise anymore, not where he was, safe in the private jet, too high above the clouds to even glimpse the destruction going on just under him. He wasn’t sure he’d ever actually seen the smoke rise in the first place, but with the image so vivid in his mind’s eye, he might as well have been staring straight into the fire.

Dad paced. The jet was big enough for him to do so, and Noctis leaned his head against the window as he turned his gaze to Dad, in an attempt to stop watching the clouds and imagining they were great plumes of smoke. Dad was speaking on his phone, quick and solemn, his voice grave and hoarse as if the smoke he’d inhaled was still weaseling around somewhere in his system. Clarus stood with his arms crossed nearby, frowning and nodding as if he was following the same conversation. Noctis knew it was about something important, but for once, he wasn’t curious about the talk.

[ ](https://monzy-atelier.tumblr.com/post/177659807875/regis-paces-my-illustration-for-this)

He just now realized that Dad was limping.

It wasn’t a new injury. Dad’s suit was, miraculously, still impeccable but for a few invisible motes of ash. Appearances were deceiving, of course, but Noctis was relatively sure. Now that he’d finally, really seen it, Noctis knew he’d been seeing the limp, without realizing it, for a long time. How long, though, he wasn’t sure. For months Noctis had been struggling with walking himself and had had eyes for no-one and nothing else. But, as he’d boasted to Luna, he had recovered. He’d been out of the chair for long enough that he should have noticed _something_. He should have seen the way Dad’s right foot dragged slightly, as if it couldn’t quite keep up with the left.

As he spoke, Dad turned the Ring round and round on his finger with his thumb. Wasn’t it supposed to fit snugly? How did it get so loose that Dad could do that? What if he washed his hand and lost it? When Noctis was little Dad had given him a ring to wear, to be just like him. It wasn’t anything too important, just a silver ring with the skull of the royal crest cast onto it. Noctis remembered losing it in the playground. He’d just raised his arm too fast, and the ring had flown off right off never to be seen again. 

To think the Ring of the Lucii could be lost in the same manner kind of worried him. But then again, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing? Each time the diamond flashed, a different tidbit from Noctis’ history and magic lessons resurfaced in his mind, and he could almost see the Ring sapping energy from Dad in real time. This was selfishness unfit of the royal line of Lucis, and Noctis knew this, but he couldn’t help but think it: It was the Ring that was responsible for draining the very substance that made up Dad, as a person, leaving him thin, stooped, and limping. 

In fact – Noctis realized with a stab of pain – it was as if Dad was becoming slowly, gradually more transparent over the years. The silver in his once jet-black hair was no longer only from his crown. They were too far from the Crystal for it to draw on him now, but as soon as they got home, it would start again. And Dad would hand it everything it wanted with both hands. He’d want the Crystal to have more, to take even more from him, because he thought by spreading his own lifeforce over the city he could make Insomnia safe. He still believed this, believed in the Crystal, even after it had been clear that the Crystal could not keep Insomnia safe for Noctis.

They’d thought Tenebrae would be safe, too, and they’d been so wrong.

Noctis remembered every bump of the wheelchair as Dad had grabbed it and ran from the forest. He had been petrified, in too much shock to remember how to make his newly mended legs work. But – and he was ashamed to admit the truth – had Noctis been able to run himself, he’d have done so without any hesitation. Sure, he’d been terrified for Luna, when she let her hand slip from his and turned to face the surge of Imperial soldiers. But it hadn’t prompted any heroic, chivalrous action like leaping to her defense, shielding her with his body, or staring down the approaching, hulking armors with defiance. Reality was almost disappointing. He’d simply stayed where he was, safe behind Dad, glued to his wheelchair, watching wide-eyed as the danger receded behind him. 

The attack had happened so fast, Noctis wasn’t sure he’d known he needed to be afraid. Just one burst of flames, and everything that was left of Queen Sylva was ash. After having witnessed how messy a human death could be, the neatness of a death by fire was almost… anticlimactic.

When Noctis realized what he was thinking, his numbed senses all came back with a jolt. He sat upright, clenching his fists so hard his nails dug into his palms. He was disgusted with himself. Was that really what he was thinking right now? Now, when the burn of the fire was still scorching his skin and the brief whiff of burnt human flesh still clung to his clothes? Who could think a thought like that? Except maybe one of those bloodthirsty killers, the Magitek armors… Maybe that was it. Maybe the real Noctis never left Tenebrae at all. Maybe the Magitek had killed him, just vaporized him like they’d done to Queen Sylva, and they’d put one of them in Noctis’ place. And it was that thing that was now sitting in Noctis’ place, in the plane, thinking nasty thoughts, cowardly thoughts, thoughts unworthy of any decent, normal human, let alone a Prince, a prophesied Prince. 

Was it because he was so unworthy that all these things kept happening? Were the Gods trying to punish him? But why would they do this by making only the people around Noctis suffer? 

Noctis wanted this to stop. His hands had been shaking, and as the trembling grew more intense, he fumbled for the familiar comfort of the Cosmogony. He found something hard and flat and closed his fingers around it, but it lacked the thickness and weight of his favorite book. The color and texture were wrong. Noctis was almost surprised when he looked down and saw a red book in his lap. Only when he opened it to the first page and saw the pressed flower did he remember what it was, what he was supposed to do. 

This scrapbook was all he had of Tenebrae, of Luna. He realized, slowly, vision blurring with grief, that this was all that remained of the Tenebrae from before the fire. It had escaped with Noctis, but everything else there would have known and touched the ashes. Everything else there may have burned. Was this dried flower, which was already losing much of its vibrant colors, the last stylleblossom that would ever exist?

The Cosmogony had stayed behind in the ruined kingdom. By now, it was probably also ashes, and Noctis could no longer find his comfort in the painted faces of the gilded Astrals. 

But what had the Astrals done for him really? Even without the book in his lap, Noctis could still recall each illustration with startling clarity. Supposedly, at the beginning of Eos, they had done all these heroic things, giving the humans all these gifts of life. What more did they really have to give? He could hardly blame them though. Eos was probably none of their business anymore. Why would they waste time on the planet while all the humans ever did was tearing each other to pieces?

Noctis thought he finally understood the lesson. The point of having all these Cosmogony books was not so that he’d spend all his time day-dreaming, waiting for the Astrals to sort out his problems for him. When he had gotten attacked by the Marilith, it had not been one of the Six who’d saved him, nor any Divine Messenger. It had been Miss Jessamine who had gotten him far enough away from the danger, at the cost of her life, and Dad who had chased away the monster. When his back had been broken there hadn’t been any God healing him with a miraculous touch, it had been all Noctis, gathering the scrapes of his courage and piecing himself together with the guidance and encouragement of the very human people who cared about him. Now, as Tenebrae went down in flames, no Gods swept in for the rescue. Human soldiers fought to defend their homeland, only to fall and die very human deaths. As for the rest of them, they had to save themselves. Even if they had to leave behind others to do so. 

No, the point of all those stories was to show him what the Astrals could do, could’ve done, but wouldn’t. It was not the Astrals who had punished him for being unworthy, but the Empire who was punishing him for being weak. By this logic, it would not be the Astrals who would save Dad, Luna, or Noctis, or either of their countries. The only way to do so would be to get stronger. The Crystal didn’t choose Noctis because it knew he would become a great King, it chose him because it had to, Eos was running out of time and options, and Noctis would have to learn a lot of things to grow into that role. 

The actual saving of their Star would be a more arduous task than the romantic images shown in those gilded frames. There wouldn’t be a magic sword for Noctis to wave around and save the day. He couldn’t count on any God’s blessings, or the Crystal to share its unlimited powers. It had taken someone else’s blood, someone else’s ashes, and his own pain, for Noctis to realize that. And now that he’d learned his lesson, he wouldn’t dare to forget about it any time soon. Even if it meant clearing his mind of childhood fancies to make room for the reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short chapter - I thought it was a good point to end and didn't want to drag it out longer. I'd rather work on the new chapter, which, I promise, will change things a lot from this point!!  
> Thank you for the attention so far and please keep the reviews coming, they really sustain us!


	8. 7. ignis

Ignis was being watched.

The sensation was so new and unfamiliar that at first he had not recognized the nagging, prickling at the back of his neck. He had let his guard down, and for good reasons: It had been a little more than a decade since the day little four-year-old Noctis had managed to pierce his cloak of shadows, and since then Ignis’ magic had never failed again. He’d tested its boundaries and knew for a fact that he was invisible to Noctis even when they were in the same room, at a distance no closer than an arm’s length. Within those limits, Ignis could easily circulate the spacious apartment that Noctis had rented for himself, even picking up some trash and dusting up a few things. If he was careful not to make any loud noises, Noctis would not even look up from the game he was playing on his phone or the book he’d been reading at all.

That was the closest interactions they had since the day Noctis had returned from Tenebrae. Shiva had said, and Ignis agreed, that things were better this way. But still, the loneliness of being right next to Noctis, and yet somehow as if on another plane of existence altogether, was almost worse than being away from him. Ignis had only voiced this feeling once, however. Levi had heard it and she’d asked, almost gleefully, whether he’d like her to physically banish him to another plane of existence so that he’d really have something to be sad about. Callous as it had been, her comment had been less disturbing than Ramuh’s gentle remark. _It is good that you cannot interact,_ Ramuh had said. _That way, you don’t run the risk of grooming the Caelum Prince into the ghost of your dead lover._

It had given Ignis chills that such a thing could happen. But in the end, he didn’t dare to say for sure that it wouldn’t, either. Noctis was the King of Stars reborn, that was true, but a soul reborn was a fresh soul and its shape was not set in stone. For him to intervene with its shaping, intentionally or worse, ignorantly, would be catastrophic. In the end, in all matters persisting to humans, Shiva’s advice still rang true. He must not meddle with the courses of nature, no matter how clearly he thought he read their direction in the river of star-light. He could only facilitate and ease Noctis’ progress, as the Prince figured out for himself the kind of man he wanted to be first and foremost, before he even thought about the kind of King he wanted to be.

The kind of man the Prince wanted to become had no time for such things as the Astrals. 

It didn’t take a God to decipher the reason behind this turning point. The boy had seen too much, much more than any child his age could be expected to handle. By the time Tenebrae had fallen, Noctis had chosen to put his faith firmly in reality, in things he could control, instead of faraway deities that he’d only ever read about in stories. Ignis pretended to himself that he was relieved about this. At least, since it was Noctis’ choice to close himself away, Ignis didn’t have to feel guilty about breaking the promise he’d made to the young Prince in the garden at the heart of Tenebrae. But the truth was that, if he really felt any of that relief, it was already well over-compensated with the bitterness of failure – the inability to keep Noctis happy, the helplessness against the loss of Noctis’ innocence, and with it, the decay of Noctis’ faith in his well-meaning but overall largely useless Astrals. 

Still, even if Noctis didn’t want anything to do with the Astrals, their fates were still hopelessly tangled, linked by the fate of the whole of Eos and every living being on it. And Ignis couldn’t help but stay close at hand, to watch him grow. 

The kind of man that Noctis had chosen to become was almost ruthlessly practical. Long gone was the little boy who’d cried for fear of the place he was to make for himself in the world. Prince Noctis had grown to be a young man filled with bitter determination. Almost immediately after his return from Tenebrae, he’d started his training in gymnastics and the handling of weapons. The hands that had been until then only used to the soft caress of books became acquainted with the chafe of first wooden practice weapons, and then real steel. The son of the Shield of the King was a hard trainer, hot-headed and still ill-tempered with rebellion, unsatisfied with his lot in life and unconvinced by the duty he was to fulfill. Ignis had wondered if he should intervene, but already Noctis was proving to be a natural leader. No, more than that. Noctis had proven to be a good, caring person, a good friend. He had demonstrated his worth to Gladiolus Amicitia without even trying at all, but it was this kind of demonstration that touched one’s heart the most. After the two boys started getting along, so did their training. Noctis rapidly surpassed whatever lingering effects from his old injuries to master his body, gaining strength and agility, and thanks to Gladiolus’ company, he was even having fun while he did so.

The decision for Noctis to attend public school came as a little of a surprise. King Regis was apparently confident of his Glaives’ ability to keep the Prince safe, and in the very heart of Insomnia it was true that the risk was low. Still, Ignis couldn’t help but to add his own watchful eyes to the force that guard the Prince. The point of the ordeal was so Noctis could have a taste at a normal life, to be like other children his ages and forget the weight of his duties for a while. But they – Noctis included – had not really realized how much Noctis’ experience had set him apart, causing the Prince to withdraw ever more in his own shell. If he’d been only shy as a child, now there was a forlornness to him that was almost forbidding. For a long time his only source of friendly comfort was his long exchanges of letters with the young, newly-minted Oracle. Eventually, even that exchange was so brutally censored, then suppressed by the Empire, that they were reduced to sending single sentences, passed back and forth thanks to the diligent work of a Divine Messenger. Their words of hopes and fears and promises for the future were always carried in the red scrapbooks that Lunafreya provided without fail every time one ran out, always starting the first page with a pressed stylleblossom. To remind them of better times, perhaps. A time where they had both been children, untainted by fears and wars. 

Those scrapbooks were Noctis’ reserve of strength, and drawing on them Noctis had protected himself well against all those who might want to exploit a friendship with the Crown Prince of Lucis. Too well, perhaps, because the only friend he did want to have, he didn’t dare to approach for fear of drawing the wrong kind of attention to him. Ignis would be disappointed, but humans again showed him that they were perfectly capable of sorting themselves out without needing any divine prodding. Prompto Argentum proved himself to be as full of determination as Noctis, unrelenting in his efforts to better himself until he thought he was good enough to be friend with the Prince. If Ignis had dared, he would’ve told Prompto that Noctis had wanted his friendship all along. That Ifrit had seen the starburst blaze of his soul, and knew he had been more than good enough for Noctis from the beginning. 

Given the natural magnetism that surrounded Noctis, Ignis was rather surprised that he had not instinctively drawn in someone else to complete his support system. Day after day Ignis expected to become obsolete, the roles he’d fulfilled up until then taken over by a new member of Noctis’ small circle of loyal friends. Day after day, Ignis still found that he was needed at Noctis’ side after all. 

It was not any easier than it had been at the beginning to be only part of the background, to see Noctis struggle and yet be unable to share in his fears and offer him comfort, if only in words. As the duties piled onto Noctis little by little, Ignis could see that he was close to cracking at the seams. Joining that gymnastic club at school on top of weapons training meant that when he staggered home his muscles could barely support him as he washed himself, let alone cook or clean. His magic lessons, on top of math and geometry, gave him so many headaches he often couldn’t muster the strength to eat a full meal even if one magically appeared in front of his eyes. And on top of it all, the pressure of seeing his father’s health failing by the day made Noctis more and more withdrawn to himself. Only his apartment allowed him any room to breathe away from all those things he couldn’t help, slowly crushing him down. His friends, stars bless them, did their best to help. But they couldn’t fathom all the ways in which Noctis was troubled, and to be perfectly fair and honest? They had problems of their own. 

Ignis had to come up with practical ways to offer him comfort. He was getting good at it, too. He’d learned to gauge Noctis’ mood to guess whether he’d like a meal with more texture to it, like a tender yet chewy steak or a crunchy stir fry, or just smooth, hot, liquid comfort. He’d learned to tell the things he actually needed to do (stock Noctis’ fridge with real, fresh vegetables; scatter plump fruits around the place so Noctis could not help but be tempted, sometimes, somehow) and the things he didn’t (if he’d just place the full laundry basket at the right suggestive angle, Noctis would actually remember to do it on his own.) 

Some things Noct was actually quite good at, if only he’d received the right instructions. As it happened, sometimes Ignis found himself highlighting a key part in Noctis’ homework, or scribble the name of a reference book on a sticky note – be it chemistry or a report on the tax administration’s ins and outs – to set him on the right path, and watched him gleefully demolish his work in hours where he’d spent days procrastinating before. 

It all came to him in a flash, but right then, with Noctis’ eyes on him, Ignis realized that Noctis _had_ found someone to complete his support system. That someone just happened to be Ignis. There had been an empty space in his life, and Noctis’ instincts had recognized it. 

“You know I can see you, right?” Noctis spoke, finally. Ignis let out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, as he slowly turned his head to look in the young man’s direction. Noctis was still sprawled over his couch, where he’d taken a nap with a textbook open face-down on his belly. If he was alarmed at all by seeing a stranger in his apartment, he didn’t show it. It was just like when he’d been a child, he’d never really questioned where Ignis came from, or who he was, he’d just accepted him. 

The only thing Noctis had ever questioned was why Ignis had to go away. 

It had taken a while, probably due to Ignis’ subtle presence, but the hints and signs were stacking up and now, they had gathered enough weight to flip a switch. Granting Noctis the powers to see Ignis again, where he’d previously refused to. It came to Ignis that perhaps Noctis had never really lost the ability to see him at all. Waking up from a nap, when his mind still yet hovered between sleep and wakefulness, out of the corner of his eye, if he squinted just right – perhaps he’d glimpsed Ignis’ form many times, without really realizing what he was seeing, and accepting his presence nonetheless. Only now, when that presence had worn on him enough, he was starting to work his way around the concealment magic, to actually be able to place Ignis in the picture. 

Noctis had chosen to be able to see Ignis, in other words, and hence Ignis could reveal himself to him without fearing the effect of his interference. His being here was a choice from the Chosen King’s part. The Chosen King had called, and Ifrit had answered. This time around Ignis was invited to be part of Noctis’ life and could not be accused of “meddling.” 

“I know that,” Ignis said as he cast of his cloak of empty space – gladly, now that it had been rendered unnecessary. It was hard to keep his voice steady despite how his heart-flame leapt for joy. Stars, to actually be able to claim Noctis’ attention, to be addressed by him, it brought more substance to his very existence than anything else in the universe. His eyes were brimming with tears, he was sure, and he was glad for the glasses so he could blame their glint on a strange play of light. Steady, though, he reminded himself of his duties, to finish what he’d been doing. He was filling a mug with coffee, and when that was done, he carried it across the living room to offer to Noctis, thrilled to be able to look him in the eye finally. “You’d forgotten that you know that, though.”

[ ](https://monzy-atelier.tumblr.com/post/178048990685/ignis-reappears-another-illustration-for-this)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is another post finally! A lot had happened and now we're getting to have the two of them interact properly. A lot of this fic happened in hindsight, as I wrote more about the characters' thoughts about their experience than the events actually happening. Do you think the story telling is getting tedious?  
> In any case I'm hoping to introduce more shenanigans now so stay tuned :3c  
> Thank you again for the views and comments. Please keep them coming as they keep us going!!


	9. 8. prompto

  


Prompto was in the middle of typing about twenty exclamation marks separately and adding “he has the power of gods n anime on his side!!!” when he realized that someone was speaking to him. It was Ignis no less (really, it was unlikely and would be a little scary if it’d been someone else, given that only the three of them were inside the moving car that Ignis was driving back to Noctis’ apartment). Prompto quickly slipped the phone back into his jacket pocket and sat up a little straighter. It was absurd of course, but Prompto was always a little afraid that if he looked too long in Ignis’ direction all the dumb thoughts in his head would fall out. It was no secret that he was a dumbass, but still, Prompto liked to think he had some dignity to preserve. It wasn’t such a far-fetched theory that Ignis was able to see right into Prompto’s grubby little mind; after all the man did have the power of the Gods – if perhaps not anime, which was a shame – on his side.

As Prompto was still trying to reach into his subconscious for any part that might have registered what had been said, Noctis decided to be absolutely unhelpful as always. “I think Prompto is too in awe with you to function, again,” he said, ruffling up Prompto’s hair with a scoff, which made him squawk. “Thanks Iggy, you broke my friend. Honestly, Prom. I thought you got over this already.”

“I was just looking at my phone!” Prompto protested. _And you know it_ , he added under his breath, glaring at Noctis, who just shrugged a shoulder with his trademarked blasé attitude. Prompto knew he was smirking. “I had, uh, important messages to send! I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose. I mean, you’re pretty scary sometimes, I would have to have a death wish to ignore you, even if looking at you is, like. Staring at the sun or something.” As always, Prompto could only stop his rambling as the mortification was already starting to settle in. When Noctis snickered, it was the sign that he should just give up. “Sorry, Ignis, what was the question again? I’m paying attention this time, I swear.”

“Don’t worry about it, Prompto,” Ignis reassured him, his voice gentle and only the slightest bit amused. It was unbelievably graceful of him, since Prompto would’ve still considered it polite of him to laugh aloud in his face. The man had too much class for that, apparently. “I suppose I was intruding.” Which Prompto wanted to protest, because Ignis was definitely not a taxi driver and he was definitely doing no such things as intruding. “I thought I’d take advantage of the lull in your conversation to inquire on your dinner preference. Noctis had mentioned that you liked spicy food, but what kind of spicy do you favor? The smoky kind, with warm spices like cinnamon and nutmeg, or the biting kind with chilies?”

By now Prompto had talked about Ignis with Noctis enough that he knew it was only a matter of courtesy that Ignis was asking him his preference now. The way Noctis said it, Ignis must have done his research the moment he offered to have Prompto over for dinner. By now he probably knew what Prompto had had last Friday for take-out dinner (sourdough bread and Extra Special Galahd Spicy Soup, and it is a combo of both kinds of spicy, both smoke and heat, and it was purely heavenly.) 

It was a little scary, but Prompto didn’t mind. After all, Prompto’s best friend was the freaking Crown Prince of Lucis. Compared to that, being acquainted with a Divine Messenger came as only as a kind of collateral and not nearly as fantastical. The Oracle, Lady Lunafreya, had three of those (Divine Messengers, that is, not Princes of Lucis) and despite all odds Prompto had met one of them too. So really, it wasn’t Ignis’ quality as Divine Messenger that Prompto was so damn starry-eyed about, it was just the man in himself. The more he knew about him, the more exclamation marks he wanted to add to his “wow!!!!”

Now that Prompto was in on the secret of his existence, it was as if the wool had been removed from his eyes. Ignis was everywhere, always had been, and it was almost baffling that Prompto had never noticed. He’d recognized Ignis in some of his Crownsguard trainings, the man being no less striking even when dressed in trainee garbs like the rest of them. And then – the turntables – sometimes he was the one giving the lectures, and literally nobody batted an eye. Sometimes when Prompto was in the administrative part of the Citadel for paperwork, he’d see Ignis just strolling past on his way to a meeting, a binder with about twenty post-it notes sticking out under his arm, holding easy conversation with one of the King’s counselors or ministers. On such occasions, Ignis would always wave at him and smile. 

Apparently the man was plenty busy, but he wasn’t content with just the running of a country. Prompto had always assumed, with Noctis, that they owed the cleanliness of his apartment and the convenient presence of food (of the ready to consume variety) in his apartment to some outside cleaning and catering services that the King of Lucis had had to hire in secret to ensure the continued survival of his son and heir. But apparently it was all Ignis’ doing, and Prompto was still having a hard time processing that. It was more believable that a catering service had the commitment to carve little octopi out of cocktail sausages for Noctis’ school lunch, than to think that a literal Divine Messenger was doing that in his spare time after having gone on meetings, trained the Crownsguard, and checked over Noctis’ homework for him.

That conversation about spicy food got, well, heated, as they drove along. By the time they were riding the elevator to Noctis’ apartment, Prompto was extolling to Ignis the virtues of the Lestallum offal stew from a food cart in the covered market that was only open for business for a week every month on the third day after the full moon. He was still trying to work out the math when it suddenly hit him that Noctis was a little… shifty. He was doing a better job than Prompto had in paying attention to the ongoing conversation, making proper interjections when the situation was called for, but it was all with a distracted air. Sometimes he slipped his hand under the flap of his school bag, as if looking for something inside. At one point, Noctis must have been sure that neither of them was looking, because he started to smile dreamily to himself at the side of Ignis’ head. 

Prompto only caught him by a fortunate reflection in the polished wall of the elevator, the moment was so fleeting. By the time they left the elevator, Noctis was already taking on his usual nonchalant air. He replied in a bored tone when Ignis asked if he had any objection to the dinner menu that was picked out in honor of Prompto’s visit. “Anything you feel like, Specs,” he said, strolling into the apartment and casually dropping his bag on the floor next to the couch, then pulled off his jacket and tossed it carelessly over the back. Prompto cringed. To be quite honest, if it had been like any other times he’d been here Prompto would have done much the same, just tossing everything to the floor and wasting no time in clambering onto the couch next to Noctis and turning on the gaming console. Now, though? With Ignis here, it felt a little rude.

“Don’t over-indulge in snack,” Ignis was saying as he traded his jacket for an apron, an actual knee- length professional one in burgundy. He gave a Look, and Prompto followed that Look to witness Noctis pulling the family size back of chips out from under the coffee table looking like he was about to plunge his whole head into it. Prompto shot a sheepish glance at Ignis, who only returned it with a long-suffering smile. “Dinner won’t take long, so don’t ruin your appetite. Here’s an incentive: leave some room for desserts, there will be a lot of it.”

Finally Prompto found an appropriate window of opportunity to ask his question. “Do you want some help with cooking?” He felt a bit like a hypocrite asking that, knowing for sure that no host worth their salt would allow a guest to help with dinner. But he still felt like he had to ask it anyway. To make up for that useless gesture, he made a point to put his bag and jacket away more neatly than Noctis had done his. He would ask if Ignis wanted help tying his apron too, but the man had already tied the straps in a perfect bow so precise it could be origami. Honestly? Nobody could top that, especially not a mere mortal like Prompto. 

As for Prompto’s question, Ignis replied in the expected way. “Thank you, Prompto, but I will manage quite fine on my own. You’re the guest, so take it easy and enjoy yourself. Help yourself to drinks in the fridge, if you’d like. Noctis would be cranky if he couldn’t have you on his side when he plays… What is it you’re playing today, Noct?”

“Castles. Thanks, Specs, really appreciate it. C’mere, Prom, don’t even try to mess up his kitchen, it’s sacred ground in there.” Noctis waved Prompto over impatiently, already sprawling back with the game controller in hand. Prompto moved, but only after having received an encouraging nod from Ignis. Before he sat, though, he picked up Noctis’ jacket to hang it properly, and was about to put his bag away also. But the moment Prompto touched the strap Noctis bounded up on the couch and shook his head so fiercely that Prompto pulled his hand away as if the bag was burning him. Lost, he watched in awe as Noctis collapsed back into his relaxed position, a dragon having secured his hoard. 

Prompto shoved the bag of chips out of the way to sit down. Just what the heck was Noctis up to? Prompto sent him a text that consisted of “???” to which Noctis just replied with the emoji of a crown and a sparkle – which he used to answer everything that he didn’t feel like answering for. Then Noctis told him to pick his character for their game or get stuck with the second best, and Prompto was not proud to admit that he was oblivious to everything else from that point on. 

The two of them had worked themselves into a gaming stupor that even the unholy noise of the ice cream maker hardly perturbed them. The heady, smoky scent of curry certainly did though, especially when it was accompanied with the enticing sound of a thick, creamy liquid bubbling softly over low heat. Interrupted by the matching rumbles of their stomachs, they were half-hearted with the last match and were more or less only biding their time until the official call for dinner. 

Prompto saw Ignis walk up behind the couch first, and burst into a fit of giggle-snort when Ignis pressed a bottle of cider – so cold steam was rising in a near transparent frog from its surface – to the side of Noctis’ cheek. “Dinner’s ready,” Ignis said, not hiding the amusement in his expression as he watched Noctis flail and slap at his ice-numbed cheek gently to regain some sensation there. As for Ignis’ part, with his hands protected by those sexy, sexy gloves, he probably didn’t even feel the cold. 

“Cool!” Noctis said as he got up, gladly tossing his controller to the couch. He stretched so hard his joints popped, and then, very casually, pretending to only be loosening his joints, he extended a leg to nudge his school bag away and out of sight behind the couch, before sauntering over to the kitchen. Prompto squinted at his back as he followed. He would have to work out what it was that Noctis had squirreled away in that damn bag, even if it meant putting him in a headlock and suffering his inhuman flailing.

For now, they took their places at the table. Again, this was very different from Prompto’s previous visits, where the two of them just found some Tupperware of leftovers in the fridge, nuked them for a minute or two in the microwave, and carried them back to the couch to eat while playing. The dinner table was laid out with forks and knives, and really a flower arrangement centerpiece wouldn’t have been out of place. Prompto stared at the folded napkin for a while, almost regretting having to unfold it since it was fanned out so neatly in a shape almost like a Chocobo’s tail feathers. But he shook it loose and smoothed it over his lap anyway – look, Ma, I was not raised by wild animals! Then he sat up, a little surprised, when Ignis went around to pour him a glass full of bubbly, golden cider. 

When it was time for the food to be placed on the table, Prompto couldn’t help but swallow, his mouth having filled with saliva at the rich scent of curry so close under his nose. He knew the leftovers he’d been eating were also Ignis’ cooking, and they were already amazing, but honestly there was no comparing them to this feast being presented to him straight from the pot. The rice was glistening with butter and pressed into a neat, slopping mount on the plate. Exactly half of it was covered in the thick curry sauce, glossy and delightfully chunky with vegetables and chicken. The slices of carrot were flower-shaped, for the love of the Six. And then, the finishing touch, a scattering of crushed cashews and peanuts, toasted to release the most mouth-watering aroma, made of the dish the most photogenic plate of curry rice Prompto had ever seen. 

“I would’ve liked to present you with my own version of the offal stew, but I have yet to taste it for myself,” Ignis told him, almost apologetically, as he went around to place the same plate in front of Noctis. “And I don’t feel very confident about my ability to handle offal yet. So it will be for another occasion. It’s nothing special, but I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

“Ignis, don’t kid, this is the best curry I’ve ever seen!” Prompto said eagerly. He’d by then taken two dozen pictures with his phone and already picked up the spoon, his hand twitching to dig into that neat pile of rice and then totally demolish it. It was only the remnants of his manners that stopped him, because Ignis had not served himself yet. Actually… Prompto frowned, and exchanged a glance with Noctis, who rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulder in a manner that said ‘I told you so’. He’d mentioned in passing that Ignis never stuck around to eat the meals he’d prepared himself, always busying himself with some other works while Noctis tucked into his dinner. But surely today was a different occasion altogether? “Ignis, you’re not eating with us?”

Ignis seemed completely caught off guard – Prompto hadn’t thought this was possible – as he paused near the sink, a hand hovering at the bow of his apron. He was going to remove his “work clothes” and quietly disappear, Prompto realized. Just discretely removing himself from the scene to do other works, like waiters did after a guest had been served at a restaurant. Blinking at him, Ignis shook his head, “I wouldn’t want to intrude,” he said. “Noctis invited you over to spend time with you. I wouldn’t impose my presence on you.”

“That’s wrong,” Noctis spoke up. He already had a spoonful of curry in his mouth and he looked at Prompto as he chewed, then at Ignis, like an impatient cat. “I said I wanted Prompto over so you can get to know each other. Now how’s he supposed to do that if you’re already running off, huh?” Ignis opened his mouth to say something, but Noctis just talked over him. “Don’t you eat? Can’t Divine Messengers consume human food? Does that make you, I don’t know, fall from grace or something?”

“No, that’s ridiculous,” Ignis started. “I can, but it doesn’t mean I have to—”

“Then what’s the problem? Pull up a chair.” Noctis brought another spoonful of curry to his mouth and chewed, all without breaking eye contact. He had on his face the self-satisfied look he wore when he knew he was winning. “Hurry up, Iggy. Prompto wouldn’t eat until you do. You wouldn’t want his curry to get cold, do you?” 

Prompto gaped at him. Now he understood why Noctis wanted him over, why he’d insisted so much on dinner. He was using Prompto to blackmail Ignis into sitting at the table and eating with them! Prompto—Prompto was, actually, not experiencing any indignation. He was surprisingly okay with being used this way. With all Noctis had told him about Ignis, it was more than enough to know Noctis thought of him as a friend, despite the man’s effort to keep some sort of distance between them. As such, it was unthinkable that they should allow Ignis to keep between them this barrier of simulated servitude. 

Especially since Prompto would very much like to call him a friend, himself. 

Demurely, Prompto put his spoon back down on the table and folded his hands on his lap. His stomach chose that moment to rumble, adding to the dramatic effect, and Prompto seized the moment to give Ignis his most pitiful puppy eyes. Ignis stared at him, as if he couldn’t believe Prompto would go along with Noctis’ ridiculous request. Prompto found that in this situation he could stare Ignis back in the eye just fine, and gave him his most angelic smile. “C’mon, Ignis,” he wheedled, and moved the napkin from his lap to get up. “I’ll pour you the cider. Where d’you keep the glasses?”

*

It was late, way later than any normal dinner had the rights to be, and yet, completely justifiable for a dinner among friends. Just thinking the word made Prompto’s stomach warm, in a way that neither the rich, divinely spicy curry nor the weak cider could account for. They had demolished absolutely everything on the dinner menu. Even after Ignis had taken a plate, which hadn’t been planned for, there was still enough left for Prompto and Noctis to both have seconds. Prompto supposed Ignis was more than used to intentionally cooking too much so Noctis would always have a store of “fresh” leftovers to fall on. After that spicy dinner, the refreshing lime-mint sorbet was much appreciated, and even Noctis couldn’t find any objection to having herb inside his dessert. And then they’d polished off another bottle of sparkling cider just sitting around the table, talking.

Noctis was… Noctis was very much glowing. Again, this was more than could be blamed on the weak cider that was little more than bubbly apple juice that they’d been sipping on all evening. His eyes were bright, he actually gestured with his hands, and he laughed aloud a lot. He actually came up with new conversation topics and he was pulling anecdotes left and right. In other words, his charms were on, and all of them were aimed at Ignis. Prompto was pretty sure the reason for the flush of his cheeks was the same for his squirrely attitude with the bag. 

Whatever Noctis was planning, it had to be about Ignis. Prompto might well be by name the guest of honor for the night, but really, Ignis was the center of attention. Noctis always said that the Divine Messenger slipped in and out of one’s consciousness, so to force him to sit down and be paid attention to was a feat similar to capturing a genie. Prompto expected to be intimidated (really, nobody who ever tried to trick a genie had an all too happy ending.) But Ignis was very… human. He found that he could continue their earlier conversation about the street food scene of Insomnia without much effort. Then they talked about their mutual acquaintances – Gladio, Marshal Leonis, Lord Amicitia, even the King – and Ignis always had something witty to say about all of them. The most serious the conversation got was when it got to schoolwork, and Prompto found that Ignis was aware about all their teachers, and the quality of the teaching they were dispensing. It didn’t matter what Ignis say, because Noctis was drinking in each of his word. He was soaking in Ignis’ presence. If words were pearls, Noctis was picking each of them up, stringing them all together in strands, so that he might wear them always close to his heart. 

Still, Noctis wasn’t ignoring Prompto in Ignis’ favor. He never interrupted them, even when they were heading into ‘geeking out’ territory in topics that Noctis had no interest. In fact, he seemed just as happy when Ignis and Prompto interacted between them. Prompto realized that, with all the work he did for Noctis, Ignis probably wasn’t making any friends, not any real ones. Prompto, himself, couldn’t boast of a much bigger friend circle – he’d always been a nerd, and, if he was honest, to be known as Prince Noctis’ ‘pet’ didn’t do him any favor, not that he ever told Noctis that, but Noctis probably had picked up the signs anyway. As delighted as Prompto was to be acquiring Ignis’ friendship, it was starting to dawn on him that Ignis felt the same towards him. 

Ever dutiful, Ignis was the first one to notice when it was time to break off the fun. “Apologies. I haven’t noticed how late it’d gotten.” Judging by his expression, Prompto could tell he had genuinely forgotten the time. “Prompto, I should drive you back. It wouldn’t be reasonable of us to ask you to make your way back by public transports at this hour.” 

“Or he can stay over and sleep in the spare room. You know, that we do have?” Noctis spoke up. He’d gone off somewhere, in the split second they’d taken their attention off of him. Now he returned with his hands behind his back, and Prompto had an ‘oh no’ moment. He knew for sure that Noctis was going for it, whatever it was. He gave Noctis a horrified look, to which Noctis just rolled his eyes, and returned to his act. “By the way, Ignis! I almost forgot,” he said, in a way that said he had not forgotten at all. “Isn’t it almost exactly three month since you showed yourself to me? I thought we’d celebrate the occasion.” Before Ignis could protest, Noctis thrusted out a black velvet box at him, and said almost too forcefully, “Don’t get your hopes up. It’s just something I picked up.”

Prompto’s heart was in his mouth. The dinner that had settled so nicely in his stomach was staging a revolt. For a second he was almost worried Noctis had taken leave of his reasons and – Was he actually proposing to Ignis right now? Prompto could not breathe as Ignis took the box wordlessly, looking as stunned as he was. 

He opened it. 

Any later, and Prompto would’ve turned blue. If Prompto’s mind had been clearer, he would’ve known the box was not the right shape for a ring. On top of the red silk lining, glinted a necklace. Prompto watched Ignis pick it up, awed at how the chain was so fine it ran like water between his fingers. From the center, dangled a pendant, small enough to be discreet, but not so tiny it couldn’t be recognizable for what it was. 

It was a skull, the Royal Crest, the mark of the Lucis Caelum. 

It was small and silver, so probably not outrageously expensive. But it was definitely not ‘just something I picked up’ – it was pre-ordered, custom-made, planned. Noctis had planned for this for who knew how long – no wonder he was so protective of his goddamn school bag, how he looked like he couldn’t wait til dinner was over. Now he looked like he was standing on hot coal, shifting from one foot to the other as his head swiveled on his neck so fast Prompto was having vertigo in sympathy for him. Ignis was still holding onto the chain, speechless, and Prompto noted with rising alarm the spots of colors on Noctis’ cheeks.

“So? Are you not a necklace person? I can take it back, have it made into something else. Or you can return it, I have the receipt somewhere.” He started to take a step away, and really Prompto could not blame his urge to get away. Prompto, being not nearly half as invested into the situation as Noctis, was also kind of screaming internally under the intensity of Ignis’ gaze. 

Ignis’ voice seemed steady as it always was, when it stopped him. “Noctis, it is perfect as it is.” And then, obviously noting the skeptical look on Noctis’ face, he smiled. Was that a trick of the light or did his cheeks really turn a half shade pinker? “Apologies, I was only surprised. I hadn’t thought you’d want to give me a gift.”

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s nothing, I said. It’s nothing compared to all you’ve done to keep me alive.” Noctis said this with a shrug, but even years of practice in teenaged ennui could not keep the lines of his body relaxed. His shoulders were tense, and the spots of colors on his cheeks were spreading into a full-faced blush. “You’ve done more than you had to. So, I guess I’d just get you something to say thanks.”

“Your appreciation is noted, Noctis. I thank you.” Ignis dipped his head for a moment, and the glint of the light on his glasses hid his eyes for a moment so Prompto couldn’t really tell his expression. But when he spoke, his smile was wider, softening the curves of his lips, making his face seemed more… alive. It was striking. Prompto had not noticed until now how dull he’d always made himself look. Handsome still, yes, but also… kind of distant. Frozen in time. Almost like he was expecting something else to happen. All of that was gone, now, of course, animated with delight by Noct’s gesture. His next words stunned the both of them. “Would you like to help me put it on?” And he actually let out a soft laugh as he added, “Here, I’ll sit down.”

“I’m not that short!” Noctis groused immediately, still touchy as ever about the topic. Still, he didn’t make any further protest as he walked right over, hovering over Ignis’ shoulders where the man had sat down sideways on a kitchen chair. Ignis held up the necklace, silver pooled in the hollow of his palm, and Noctis picked it up. He fumbled with the clasp before managing to hold it open, carefully guiding it over Ignis’ head and clasping at the back of his neck. It took Prompto a lot not to squeal aloud as he watched Noctis’ fingers jumped as they brushed the long line of Ignis’ neck, or how the halo of the light, soft hair at the nape of Ignis’ neck seemed to stand up at the sensation. How Noctis very casually patted Ignis’ shoulder when he was done. “All set, now.”

  
[](https://monzy-atelier.tumblr.com/post/178580011175/just-a-simple-gift-yet-another-illustration)  


“Thank you.” Ignis said again, slender gloved fingers touching his throat. Was this poetry? Was Prompto making poetry at the sight of him? You bet your sweet ass he was. The necklace was the perfect length, allowing the skull to rest snugly in the hollow between his collarbones. The pink glow in his skin deepened, making him look utterly human, and for a moment the fact that he was a Divine Messenger didn’t even matter. “I should—” Ignis cleared his throat, getting up. “I suppose I should see about preparing that spare room then.”

With that, he fled. Noctis must have expected him to, because right now he looked about as pleased as the cat who not only got the canary, but had also feathered and spit-roasted it basted it a sauce of plum and pomegranates. In fact, he looked too pleased with himself, so Prompto had to teach him a lesson. Letting out a war cry, Prompto took a running start and leapt at his neck, tackled him into the couch, and pulled him into a headlock. “You little shit!” he tried to hiss under his breath, but it came out as a squeak, which made him wheeze in laughter as Noctis pried at his arms. “You planned this. This dinner is a set up! It’s all an excuse for you to make you move. Is this all I am to you, Noct? A convenient pawn?”

“Well, I had to do something!” Noctis got his feet under him and tried to flip Prompto, but Prompto held fast. His inferior weight meant that he was slipping, though. “You’re crushing on him too, don’t deny it. If I’d let you go on you would’ve made a move yourself, and then where would I be?”

“I’d do no such thing!” Prompto screamed with laughter. Noctis was starting to tickle him. “Maybe I would, then, and I’d do a better job at it than you. Someone needs to put you in your place. ‘Oh, just something I picked up.’ Really? Really?? Who says that and expects it to be believed anymore?”

“Hey, don’t knock on a tried and true method. It worked! Did you see his face?”

“I did!” His lovely, flushed face. The way he looked at Noctis. Gods, the two of them were disgusting. Prompto’s life just became a rom-com and it didn’t even do him the courtesy of making him one of the main characters. He was so, so jealous of Noctis right now. He released His Highness to sit on his butt instead, leaning over so he could look at his face upside down. “You owe me one, buddy. You better treat him right, or else.”

“Believe me, I’m trying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hewwo!! oh boy this chapter was so much work. it just kept going and i couldn't stop until i've written everything. then monzy had to edit it and draw the illustration. then ao3 spazzed out and died when i tried to upload the chapter text with the emojis. then because i couldn't find a discord text generator i had to create a test server on discord, and siven drew the icons, and we actually acted out the conversation on discord.oh and i had to go and dick around in my computer's system time because when we were doing all this it was too late and the timing wasn't the same as when it's supposed to happen in the fic. finally it's all in place. i hope you enjoyed this silly cute chapter bc we rly had a lot of fun creating it too!  
> plugs: monzy's tumblr https://monzy-atelier.tumblr.com/  
> come hola at me on twitter even though i only reblog fanart at the moment https://twitter.com/mirilotto


	10. 9. gladiolus

Gladio had no idea how his life had gotten to this point.

There used to be order in his life. He knew what he was supposed to do in order to become exactly what he was supposed to become. Joining the Crownsguard was only the simplest step, the first step in his (hopefully) long career. Up until now, the discipline had always suited him: He knew what orders to obey, who to answer to, who to respect. He knew when he must eat and how much, when best to train, when to go to sleep so he could give his body the rest he owed to his training program. 

Every day was a list of boxes to check, and Gladio was fine with it. Or he’d just thought he was fine with it, until the brat prince entered his life and threw all of it onto its ear and showed Gladio just how close he’d come to drowning. 

No time for sentimental pondering now, even if he was still very much inclined to curse the messy state his life had become. He was in the private training room, the one with high-quality equipment and extra safety measures – only the best for the Crown Prince. Except the Prince was doing nothing that even remotely resemble training, only idly sitting on top of a stack of mattress, one knee drawn up and his practice sword in the crook of his elbow, his thumb moving rapidly over the phone in his other hand. He wasn’t even watching Gladio, the little bastard. Probably still sulking. He’d failed his parry one too many times and was starting to get frustrated, unable to grasp how Gladio had come at him so quickly while wielding such a big, heavy sword. 

Their trainings had been going more smoothly as of late, but sometimes they still ended the day with a shouting match, and Gladio had been ready to end this one in the same way. That was, until Noctis’ advisor most royal, Actual Divine Messenger Ignis (Lucis Caelum? Were Divine Messengers named after the family they served or was that blasphemous? Gladio wasn’t sure what the protocol was on that), volunteered himself to spar with Gladio in his Prince’s stead.

It’d seemed like a good idea an hour ago. Ignis had said, and Gladio had thought it very reasonable, that he could perhaps help demonstrate the moves to Noctis. Watching from an outsider point of view, Noctis ought to be able to seize the movement sequence and figure out how to disrupt them more easily. It was all sensible stuffs, and Gladio had agreed readily, though not without personal motives. The truth was that Gladio was bored of repeating the same move again and again, and he was really not in the mood to deal with Noct when he would inevitably lose his temper and start behaving like a Six-accursed brat. Sparring with Ignis had seemed like it would be a lot more fun. 

Most importantly, Gladio had been curious about Ignis himself. Prompto had mentioned to him a couple days back how he had recognized Ignis in his training, and Gladio had noticed the same. Needless to say, it piqued his interest. The man gave lessons in elemancy and other magic, but he posed as a mere trainee when it came to combat and weapon training. Gladio wouldn’t mind finding out exactly what a Divine Messenger could do when having to rely only the weapons of mortal humans, and whether he had a chance at beating him.

Now, an hour after, any pretense at making the sparring session a mock fight for Noctis had been completely abandoned. And by now Gladio had come to the conclusion that if he would still have a shot at beating Ignis, it wouldn’t be as easy as he’d hoped. More gratifyingly, from the thoughtful look Ignis wore when he locked blades with Gladio, it was clear the man also didn’t consider Gladio an easy opponent. 

The two of them did employ very different weapons, but that was not all. Even the way they moved, the essence of their combat tactics, were as outlandish to each other as could be. Gladio was fast and he wouldn’t be ashamed to say it, but Ignis’ movements were another kind of speed altogether, one where muscle power combined with long practice and economical footwork made of him one fluid, flawless fighting machine. Gladio had seen him spin away from attacks with barely a point of contact to the ground. Sometimes he did backflips completely out of nowhere and Gladio had to suppress the urge to look down and check if gravity hadn’t completely reversed and the floor hadn’t somehow become the ceiling when he wasn’t paying attention. 

The speed and flexibility combined with the superior reach of Ignis’ lance made for a fighting style that was most challenging for Gladio’s technique to touch. An inspiring opponent, and – and Gladio thought this as Ignis somehow locked the lance into the cross guard of his sword and used his body weight to level Gladio up into the air then honestly flip him like a goddamn flapjack – the perfect partner, when they figured out just exactly how complementary they could match their styles to each other. 

“Holding up alright, big guy?” Noctis drawled. At the sound of his voice, Gladio met Ignis’ eyes and caught there an amused look (a promise not to take advantage of the distraction to secure a dirty win.) With that unspoken agreement, Gladio risked a glance in Noctis’ direction. The Prince was lounging on top of the stack of mattresses, with his neck and head against the wall in an awkward angle that gave Gladio a crick just watching him. His phone was balanced on his belly, and even if there was no blinking light on the phone to attest to this, Gladio could just tell that he was filming.

“Noctis Lucis Caelum,” Gladio grunted. “You stop recording this instant, or I swear to the Six, I’ll make you train with pool noodles for the next two weeks!” He parried a blow, panted, and thought a little more of his threat. “No, I’ll make you train with those squeaky plastic fishes that they sold at the novelty store! In the public yard where the baby Glaives can see you. I’m not kidding, stop!”

“Geez, stop the hissy fit. And you say I’m the one throwing tantrums. One, I’m just live-streaming to Prompto, two, don’t worry, your form looks great. I can hardly tell you’re getting your ass kicked.” The smirk on Noctis’ face was maddening. “Hey, do you have any last word? You look like you’re gonna expire.”

Gladio huffed. “Yeah, if I die, all my estates go to Iris. Make it so that cousin Petunia ain’t getting shit, she’s spent forty years of her life trying to dispute a testament that left my grandfather’s estates to the poor, she’s that much of a dick. Prompto gets my video games collection, and you, Your Highness, you get my boots. Up your ass. Hah!” 

That last triumphant shout was when Gladio managed to sweep Ignis’ feet out from under him. But before he could follow up with any attack that counted, Ignis had jumped out of his reach (causing Gladio to shout a heartfelt ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’) and slowly circled Gladio as he adjusted his glasses. “Say the word, and I’ll have your testament notarized for you before the next time we spar, Gladiolus,” he said with one of those smirks that he must have copied from Noctis (no one with that much dignity smirked that much like a goddamn dork.) “I have to agree with Noctis though, let’s not push ourselves to any extreme. I’m willing to end this match at a draw, if you are also inclined to agree.”

It was probably a miracle that Ignis could still say so many words without sounding out of breath. Gladio knew how to accept defeat when he saw it. “Deal, but next time I’m kicking your ass,” he said (because no defeat was permanent). And that was all he still had in him to do. He let his sword vanish into the Armiger in a shower of sparks, then fell backwards and hit the mat on his back, gasping for breath. He had enough presence of mind to hear Ignis’ heads-up and caught the water bottle the man threw him with a grunt of thanks, uncapped it and just poured half of it over his head, before he could sit up and drink the rest as was expected of him.

“That was uncalled for,” Ignis tsked as he threw a towel over next. It landed neatly on Gladio’s head and covered his face. He looked like he had hardly broken a sweat (do Divine Messengers sweat?) and his clothes and hair looked as perfect as when he had started, though Gladio could’ve sworn he’d at least made Ignis a little disheveled with the intensity of the sparring. “Please clean up after yourself once you’ve recovered, the cleaning staff has enough to do as it is.” 

Gladio groaned and let himself collapsed back into the puddle of water on the mat. He couldn’t make himself move even when he heard Noctis’ laughter from the other side of the room, and only added it to his mental to-do list: to wring the brat prince’s neck later. Soon, but later – Gladio needed his time to recover.

*

Gladio hadn’t expected anything short of a national crisis when Ignis pulled him out of class for a ‘private word’. 

It was kind of baffling really, how nobody reacted when Ignis showed up. He was dressed in black like all the Crownsguards, but he looked nothing like a poor hapless trainee being snagged randomly out of a corridor then sent on errands by his betters. Many of Gladio’s classmates must have had Ignis for an instructor before, so the fact that nobody recognized him was a little unnerving. 

Gladio recalled what Noctis had told him, too, about King Regis’ recent brush with the divine. Apparently, after Ignis had shown up out of nowhere, the King had summoned him for a ‘chat’, which was only an excuse to attempt a look through his magical disguises. The way Noctis told the story, Ignis had sat serenely through the meeting, sampling one of each of the treats on the tea tray before advising the King not to over-exert himself. So even the King could not pierce Ignis’ magical defenses, and only had the man’s word to assure him what he was. 

It was not as if Ignis had given any sign for Gladio to distrust him, but why hide who he was if there was no reason to do so? The man had at least a part of a hidden agenda, and he didn’t like it. Gladio was never one for magic - and illusions? Especially not his favorite.

“You want me to do what?” He said, before he could remind himself to be more respectful to the goddamn Divine Messenger. But really, what Ignis was saying to him… It made no sense. “Why would you, of all people, think it’s a good idea to let Noct and Prom go out drinking?” 

“As a matter of fact, I don’t,” Ignis sighed, crossing his arms. Was Gladio imagining or did he look a little petulant? “But they do seem rather determined about it, and I thought I wouldn’t add to their resolution by attempting to stop them. Already they exclude me from their conniving, and I believe they have no intention of extending their invitation to me once they put their plan into action. I’m afraid I don’t qualify to be their ‘designated driver’, seeing as I fall into the category of ‘meddling adults’.” He looked over to Gladio. “You must be aware that my concealment magic no longer works on Noctis, and so I am unable to shadow him as closely as I should like to do, especially given the recent stalker problem. You, on the other hand, they consider a friend, and I have to say I’m glad they count at least one sensible friend in their circle. As such, the burden of being Noct’s first line of defense as he pursues his teenaged indulgences falls onto you.”

Gladio was… baffled.

He was no stranger to pretty words, but it was the first time that so many big, pretty words converged in declaring a trust in him so sincerely and unconditionally. Nothing about the merits of his family, his legacy as Shield of the future King, or even his military training. In Ignis’ eyes there was just Gladio himself, and his merit of being a person with his head screwed on right, and Noctis’ friend. He was also reeling from the reminder that he was roughly the same age as Noctis. The fact that he was unusually large for a boy his age – could he still think of himself as a boy? – usually made people forget his real age and treat him like an adult already, and worse – like a soldier.

The more he thought about it, the more Ignis’ words made sense. Of course the kids had to be allowed to explore _some_ things on their own, even if Gladio didn’t want Noctis to come to harm. Prompto neither, to be perfectly honest. Yes, he’d approached Prompto at first only as a secondary measure to get a hold of Noctis, given how close Prompto was to the Prince. But the kid was starting to grow on him, and already Gladio knew his protective instincts would soon be pretty equally divided between the two of them. 

Plus, it wasn’t really work that Ignis was offering. It might become work, true, if all three of them had shit luck (which they did, but Gladio was still in denial). For now, Gladio was just being asked to tag along with Noctis and Prompto as they go out drinking. Gladio wouldn’t mind, as he hadn’t really had the time to enjoy the Insomnian night scene recently himself. He was in the middle of saying this out loud when he finally registered the other thing Ignis had said. “Wait. What stalker problem?”

*

They had only stepped into the hallway leading to Noctis’ room, and Gladio already started sneezing.

“Are you alright?” Ignis asked as he glanced over to Gladio. He seemed embarrassed that a part of anything under his responsibility should be in anything less than pristine shape. “These living quarters are usually unused, so I’m afraid they are rather dusty.”

“I know. It’s not that. It’s fine.” Gladio yanked a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped aggressively at his nose. It really wasn’t that. These days it was getting to the point where he could tell the difference between a kind of sneeze and another, and this definitely wasn’t the old-dust kind of sneeze. It was something else, and Gladio already knew what awaited him behind the closed doors of that inhabited room. 

Ignis, too, at this point seemed to also have figured it out for himself. Gladio braced himself for a joke, a little disbelieving scoff – anything of the usual witty things people liked to say when they discovered how sensitive this tough, big kid, who was named after a flower to boot, was allergic to pollen. He’d heard all the jokes already and he was just tired and wanted to get it over with. 

To his surprise, Ignis said nothing, only threw open the doors that still stood in their ways. And he could see that, as forewarned by Gladio’s overly sensitive senses, Noctis’ vacated childhood bedroom was full of flowers.

Well, it wasn’t like the flowers were invading all the space or anything. But there were vases on every available surface, ranging from paper-thin porcelain to polished silver, all incredibly delicate but mismatched as a whole, more vases than the Prince could possibly care to own. It was as if the servants had unearthed all the unused vases from the Citadel to put them all on display here, where it didn’t matter whether they were in harmony with each other and with the decor or not. Huge bouquets were carefully arranged in each vase, from the most extravagant arrangements to the more modest blooms. The curtains were all pulled back, and in the cascade of sunlight pouring in through the glass, the swirl of pollen rising from the flowers was golden. It was almost romantic, if Gladio could stop sneezing about five seconds to appreciate it, and if the smell wasn’t so overpowering it assaulted his already irritated nostrils. 

“This is an average day,” Ignis said apologetically as he moved ahead into the room and opened the window to let in some air. With the glass panes open, Gladio finally stopped feeling like he was suffocating, but it was still a near thing. “There are more after he just made an appearance on TVs. It’s not a problem, by itself. The servants bring the flowers in here where they are kept, unviewed, until they fade away. I suppose they’re good for keeping at bay the smell of abandonment, but still, the gesture is quite wasted.”

Gladio agreed, halfheartedly, with three loud sneezes in quick succession that got him bending at the waist. To be honest, the flowers looked a bit freakish here in this pastel-colored room of a child, alongside picture books and stuffed animals still on some shelves. They gave the room a kind of embalmed, almost funereal look, and Gladio had to take a moment to check his memory and reassured himself that Noctis was not _dead_. Another sneeze caught him unaware and he almost bonked his head on the thing that Ignis had brought over, if not for Ignis’ quick reflex in moving it away. Muttering an apology, Gladio wiped at his nose again before he inspected the object. 

It was a deep silver tray, all engraved with beautiful floral designs. He could appreciate the craftsmanship, but right now Gladio’s focus was drawn more by the envelopes overflowing the tray. Though opened, the letters were put back respectfully enough, and all the envelopes echoed the same words: each of them was addressed to Noctis Lucis Caelum, Crown Prince of Lucis. 

Gladio stared at them in pure disbelief. There were enough of them that he could dig his hand into the tray and run his fingers through the paper like they were sand. A glance at the desk behind Ignis’ back showed yet more trays like this one. “Fan mails?” Gladio said finally. “Noct has fanmails?”

“Yes. Also not a problem by itself, and if you think about it, it’s not that strange,” Ignis replied. “He is out in the public eye a whole lot, this Prince of ours. He goes to a public school, he works at an ordinary restaurant. As such, he has not only suitors from the noble families, but admirers from the common folks as well.” Ignis looked at the tray and rifled through the letters purposefully until he plucked one out. He handed it to Gladio, who opened to find a home-made card with a crayon drawing of the Prince in his signature pinstriped suit. “The letters are received along with the flowers here, screened and checked for magic and other malicious intents. The ones that were cleared are then filed for when Noctis cares to go through them. He doesn’t do this often anymore, but they could bring quite the comfort. Some of Noct’s best encouragement from the time he was injured came from these letters.” Gladio didn’t interrupt Ignis to ask how he knew this, and the man continued on with his explanation. “He likes the letters from children best, and even more if they had drawings of him. However,” And here Ignis’ brows drew together, his expression darkened, and Gladio knew he was getting to the reason why he had been brought here in the first place. “Some of them can be more problematic.” 

The desk held another tray in black lacquer, and though it was smaller it held the thickest envelopes. With the instincts that he’d acquired, Gladio automatically knew that these were the ones that required his attention. He crossed over, not needing to ask permission, and opened the one on the top. It was heavy, and it didn’t take long to see why: it was _stuffed_ full with pictures of Noctis, taken from various angles with a long distance lens. Gladio knew for a fact that they were candid shots, because in every single one of them Noctis was smiling or laughing. 

It made Gladio’s blood boil. Noctis’ smile was so rare and hard won, it felt unjust that someone who had done nothing to earn them were standing a distance away and harvesting them for themselves this way. He checked the date of the letter and the time stamps from the pictures. Nothing later than three days back. In the tray, more of the same envelope with the same handwriting. Now Gladio was starting to see the problem. 

“Does Noctis know?” He asked only to confirm his suspicion. The Prince might be a brat but he wasn’t stupid enough to ignore a threat like this. And he definitely wouldn’t be putting Prompto in danger. No, he didn’t know, and Gladio didn’t even question Ignis’ decision to keep this from him. For one, Noctis already knew about this kind of people, so this wouldn’t exactly be news to him. Just something of a recurring nightmare. In fact, the last time that he’d confided in Gladio about them he’d tried to act so steely, but his voice had been so bitter. _There are ones that are just so… I don’t know, personal. They find all sorts of information about me online, and list it back to me as if to convince me they already know me. Like they own me._ He’d reassured Gladio that the words of strangers wouldn’t hurt him, not anymore, but Gladio knew they would always have some kind of impact. It was his job, as Shield, to protect Noctis not only from harm on a grand battlefield, but from daily nutjobs like these ones, too. “Shit timing to go out drinking, isn’t it?”

Ignis inclined his head slightly in a gesture that read almost like a rueful smile. “That is why I need you.” When their eyes met, Gladio could feel like an echo of that particular camaraderie he’d felt during their sparring session. It was clear that they were to be allies in more ways than one.

*

There were orchids on Gladio’s windowsill. They were beautiful, expensive, and hypoallergenic, but seeing them still spooked him, as it reminded him too vividly of that flower-flooded room that had marked the start of… of this whole debacle.

Worst decision of Gladio’s life, and he fully intended to blame Ignis for that. Go out drinking with Noctis and Prompto, he said. Watch out for his stalker, he said. It might be nothing, but be there anyway, just in case. And Gladio had believed him like an idiot. 

Now his face hurt. It felt stiff under the bandage, even if Gladio couldn’t feel the stitches pulling at him anymore. At least it’d stopped bleeding. It wasn’t a serious wound, but like all face wounds, it bled way more than it should. Noctis and Prompto should know this too, with their training and all, but the knowledge hadn’t stopped them from freaking out like Gladio had been dying. Not that he could blame them. Their nerves must have been frayed from seeing a drunken stranger come at them with a knife, especially having heard the choice words the man had had to say about Noctis. Add about two and a third cups of blood to that, spraying directly onto their faces from Gladio’s, and they could be excused for losing their goddamn minds. 

The Prince slept now, piled into the armchair in the corner of Gladio’s room. He was folded into Prompto’s smaller form, and the blond had both arms wrapped around him protectively as they both breathed slow and steady in sleep. With the blanket draped over them, covering their blood-stained clothes from last night, they looked almost peaceful, and Gladio envied them.

The early morning light fluttered in the window, and Gladio didn’t need to turn his head to know whose presence it was that he felt next to him. But he turned his head anyway, if only to look at Ignis balefully. He would have more choice words to say later, when half his face wasn’t numb and his tongue didn’t feel so heavy in his mouth.

[ ](https://monzy-atelier.tumblr.com/post/179389805210/gladio-wakes-up-yet-another-illustration-for)

Gladio would blame the pain medication for the fact that his body didn’t even react when Ignis reached out a hand and just brushed the tips of his fingers over the bandage on his face. It wasn’t a touch at all, not even a very light one. It just felt like the surge of warmth when he leaned in too close to the grate of the fireplace. Or when he stood in the yard and tilted his head up and felt the sun.

“I believe I owe you an apology,” Ignis whispered. His voice was soft, as soft as the breeze that swayed the curtains right now. In fact, there was an unreal quality to his presence right now, that made Gladio wonder whether he wasn’t dreaming or hallucinating all of this. The fact that Noctis and Prompto stayed asleep all through this was strange, too, and usually Gladio would’ve been alarmed. But if Ignis was an illusion then he was the most well-meaning illusion that Gladio had ever seen. And right now all the he felt between them was respect and more of that spark of camaraderie that he had discovered, except it had grown and expanded and left no room for no such nonsense as doubt. 

Ignis continued, “I misjudged the threat and you paid the price for it. The doctors will bring you a potion later, but by then the healing would still leave a scar. It saddens me, but the magic of healing is beyond my capacity,” he gave Gladio a rueful smile. Should Gladio count it an honor that Ignis admitted a short-coming directly to him? “But should you require it, a glamour would be within my powers, to hide this scar that mars your face.” A pause, then he added, “You are far too young to have to bear the mark of a soldier.”

A glamour? Well, Gladio may have made his peace with illusions, but he wouldn’t go as far as to wear one on his face like a big permanent band-aid. And really, it was just a scar. An injury, the first that Gladio had earned while protecting his Prince. It stung a bit, really, that Ignis would offer to cover it up like it was something to be ashamed of. Gladio glared at him, and Ignis’ lips tugged up in a smile as he inclined his head. “The Astrals see and remember your sacrifices, young Shield,” he said, his touch moving up to Gladio’s brows. A moment of hesitation, before he added, “And Ifrit’s blessing goes with the flame-hearted.” 

Funny that he should mentioned flames. The warmth and softness of his touch reminded Gladio of when he had been younger, and the way his father’s touch had soothed a fever. Now he felt the same comfort and knew it came from a friend. Divine or not, Messenger or not, that was what Ignis was. A friend. Gladio tilted his head to look at Noctis’ sleeping face once more. Well, what can he say? The Prince might be a brat, but he did have good friends. Good friends who look after them, and after each other. 

It was with those thoughts that he closed his eyes and fell asleep at last.

In the morning, when he opened his eyes, the flowers were gone from the room. In their place, there was only a succulent in a pot. He liked the plant instantly. When he left the infirmary, Gladio brought her with him. He named her Theophania, or Tiffany for short. She sat on his windowsill, and though he thought she was a little small and stubby, Gladio absolutely believed that she was doing her best.


	11. 10. noctis

This was a very bad idea. Even as Noctis tried to keep down his mental stream of ‘shit, shit, shit’ to carry on with his idea anyway, he already had in his mind’s eyes the next day’s headlines. _‘Crown Prince burns down own apartment in cooking accident’_ was one of them, and it would be the exact truth.

Whenever Dad bemoaned Noctis’ inability to put together a meal, Noctis’ first line of defense had always been to remind him that he’d held down a job at a restaurant for three months, thank you very much. He didn’t think that Dad would be fooled by that, however. He must have known that most of Noctis’ duty involved prancing around as the restaurant’s mascot (no, not Kenny Crow, he hadn’t sunken that far, but he was definitely a very well-stuffed tuna, Noctis had hit the wall countless times in that costume and hardly had a bruise to show for it) and handing out flyers. He couldn’t exactly wait tables, because boy, that sure would be fun, to see your table served by the Crown Prince of your country. Not like Noctis cared, but he definitely didn’t want to be causing any riots.

Only when the restaurant had been really, really, desperately short on hands, they would recruit Noctis into the cooking line. And even then, the restaurant being a sushi restaurant, most of Noctis’ tasks only involved knife work of some kind. Needless to say he wasn’t really a stranger to sharp blades, and he could fillet a fish like nobody’s business. Beyond that, his culinary skills were restrained to measuring out ingredients, tossing up salads, plating food, and (at the very peak of his career) squeezing out wasabi in a floral pattern using a pastry piping bag. 

Throughout his childhood, food had always arrived on a shiny cart rolled out by servants and didn’t exist out of the dining room at the Citadel. Even when he had moved out, he was mostly acquainted with food in its finished form, be it in the take-outs he’d ordered himself, or the leftovers that Ignis had covertly prepared for him. That had changed since he’d recognized Ignis and the man no longer attempted to hide himself from Noctis’ eyes. Up to that point, Noctis had had no idea how much effort it took to pack a cute lunch box, or to produce a clear chicken broth that seemed to consist of only a few ingredients for him to sip on while cramming for exams late at night. But now he’d seen Ignis spend hours at the counter, washing, peeling, chopping, blanching, simmering, skimming, braising— and more. All these actions strung up in perfect choreography, so much effort lined up just to produce something that fit into a bowl and several glass Tupperwares. 

It was enough to make a guy feel inadequate. How do you even justify taking up so much of someone’s time and effort, just to fulfill your body’s basest needs and functions? 

For the longest time Noctis had refused to acknowledge the near magic act that Ignis was performing on a daily basis for him. He’d thought the best way to react to this attention was to not react at all, to consume the food as if it was no different than something he pulled off the shelf at the convenient store. But there were only so many times he could shrug to Ignis’ inquiry about the food’s quality, or watch Ignis’ expression go just the slightest bit dejected and thoughtful as the man pulled out a notebook to write down one of Noctis’ throw-away criticism like it was something of the utmost importance. He felt like a sham every time he did it now, and yet he’d kept up the charade for too long now that he feared Ignis wouldn’t believe him if he were to break character.

It was with these guilty thoughts that Noctis concocted his plans with Prompto. He didn’t tell Prompto all this, though, just that he was planning a surprise for Ignis to show his appreciation. Prompto, stars bless him, was as enthusiastic about the experiment as Noctis was. And so Noctis’ very first experience at real cooking, as in actually altering an ingredient through heat, had happened in Prompto’s kitchen. He could manage a very solid boiled egg now. Scrambled eggs were also mastered, though omelets were still kind of a mystery to him. He actually made soup, and though all of his chunks of potato were still crunchy inside Prompto said at least they were uniformly and evenly, well, uncooked. 

This particular dish that he was preparing in his own kitchen right now? A simple goulash that he’d practiced with Prompto several times. They’d settled on this recipe because it was simple, though Prompto wouldn’t admit he’d been biased because it was spicy. Well, if he’d hoped to eat some of the test products, he’d been sorely disappointed, because Noctis had never actually accomplished it yet, thanks to one disaster or another (it turned out Noctis was very, very creative with those.) But, he was pretty sure he’d gotten the gist of it by now. As Prompto’d said, _Just add spices and you’re golden!_ Noctis was rather hoping the spiciness would make up for the lack of subtle flavors that he couldn’t even hope to achieve just yet. And, well, as he’d told Prompto, perfection was the enemy of progress. There was no better time than the present to ‘git gud’, and Noctis supposed he’d work better under pressure.

Speaking of, he was almost out of time. He’d lost a lot of time at the beginning, fussing over each step and trying to execute them perfectly, despite his opposite stand from earlier. Still, he could probably still salvage this and make it on time (at least he hadn’t actually pulled out the ruler to make sure all his chunks of potato were the same size). Noctis wanted dinner to be ready on the table by the time Ignis knocked on the door, and Ignis was very exact with his time. 

Noctis had asked him, at one point, why he’d use the door while he was perfectly capable of just waltzing in out of nowhere and going about his business. Didn’t Gentiana go about appearing and disappearing as she pleased, as well? The smile that Ignis had given him was sad. _You already can’t decide so many things in your life,_ he’d said. _I want you to at least command this space that you have for yourself. I only come here a set time so you can have the rest for yourself. I knock so that you can turn me away, should you want to._

It had seemed sensible enough a consideration at the time. Lately, though? More and more often Noctis felt like he’d prefer it if Ignis didn’t have to go away at all. 

Argh. He needed to stop. Why was he such a nerd? Focus. Noctis smacked his face and tried to get back to stirring the pot as he was supposed to. If he couldn’t focus at such a critical moment, then he couldn’t possibly hope to convincingly deny the next time Prompto accused him with day-dreaming. The soup was almost done, but Noctis had hoped he’d have time to, if not to set the table, then at least clean up before Ignis arrived. In fact, not only did he make the kitchen a mess – cutting boards and three different ladles in the sink, several bowls, grease spots on the stove and on the floor – Noctis himself wasn’t much more presentable. His shirt was spattered with sauce when it’d bubbled over, though at least the black meant that the stains didn’t stand out so much. His hair had completely given up, drooping from the steam he’d been standing in. 

Most importantly Noctis had to get rid of the first aid kit still open on the counter before Ignis arrived. He’d hastily pulled out two band-aids from there when he’d cut his fingers. And then, in one instance of complete lack of brain activity, when the pot had threatened to overflow, he’d panicked and tried to seize it by the sides, instead of the handles, to pull it off the heat. He’d ran his hands under cold water, but probably not long enough, because by now his skin had become red and stinging like all hell. Still, it could be dealt with later. For now, this dinner came first.

Noctis picked up a chunk of potato from the pot, blew on it energetically to get it to cool. No, these seemingly inoffensive vegetables would not get him a second time, he wouldn’t try to pop them all hot into his mouth again. Just about when he judged the potato cool enough and was about to attempt a bite, a knock on the door made him jump, and the cursed vegetable escaped, skittering on the already messy floor. “Come in,” Noctis said in a panic, because what else was he supposed to do, tell Ignis to wait? And then, in a completely irrational urge, he actually ran out from the kitchen to the door and barred the way when Ignis did come in.

“Noctis? You’re already home?” Ignis looked at him, surprised. Noctis wondered dumbly for a second why Ignis would find that surprising, and then realized that, ah yes. He’d totally ditched the last class of the day to prepare his evil concoction. Usually at this time when Ignis arrived Noctis would have just had gotten home from school, still in his uniform and eagerly waiting for Ignis’ arrival so the man could fix him a snack. No, he really was not five years old. As Ignis’ eyes flickered down to take in his entire appearance, Noctis was aware that it could not be clearer what he had been up to. If the stains hadn’t already given him away, then Noctis could still smell the butter and beef on himself. The fact that he was still holding in one hand the ladle and in the other, the wad of paper towels that he’d used to try to mop up the counter, were probably dead giveaways, too. “What are you do—”

“Dinner is almost ready,” Noctis cut him off, wanting to beat him to the punch and come clean before Ignis could completely expose him. “I was gonna have it ready for when you get here, but there were… complications. I got this, though. So just sit down, I’ll finish up, and we’ll… have dinner. Yeah.”

“Noctis,” Ignis said, in a voice that made it more than clear Noctis’ reassurance had not worked at all. Noctis was almost surprised though, to see the alarmed expression on his face. It was something that was almost like pain, and he panicked for a moment, like, shit, did Ignis already know how bad his cooking was and was already dreading it? Was Ignis going to come up with an excuse to not have to eat the dinner Noctis had tried to put together for him? Noctis wouldn’t blame him for having life-preservation instincts, obviously, but that would be a blow to his ego. Those thoughts lasted for a second before Ignis reached out and took Noctis’ hand to inspect his cuts and burns with an intensity that Noctis hardly thought they warranted. 

Now it was clear to Noctis how stupid his thoughts half a second ago had been, psssh. He already knew that no matter how awful his food was, Ignis would eat it, for the simple reason that Noctis had made it for him. Which hadn’t really taken the burden of expectations from him, seriously. If anything, Noctis had wanted to surprise Ignis. Prove to Ignis that he could be good for him, too.

“I did say there were complications,” Noctis said, trying to keep his voice light, as his hands remained in Ignis’ gentle but determined grip. “It’s okay though. These are nothing! Nothing that will stop me from finishing up and cleaning up after. Specs, I mean it. Just have a seat and chill, I’ll be done in a sec—I’ll—“

“One moment, Noct,” Ignis said, and Noctis immediately shut the hell up. He half expected Ignis to whip out a potion and pour it over his minor wounds, like the giant fusspot he was. Instead, from this angle, with Ignis’ head tilted over his hands so his glasses weren’t in the way, Noctis caught a moment where Ignis’ eyes glowed golden. His fingers passed over the burns, and it felt the way a cold breeze felt when it would blow over damp skin. Noctis’ senses thrummed in resonation to the magic, and he could sense that this was not a conventional act of healing. No, Ignis had said often enough, with that apologetic look on his face, that he couldn’t achieve that magic. Instead, this felt more like Ignis was drawing on the heat that was still gnawing its way inside Noctis’ flesh, to pull it away from it and fold it backwards so the burns disappeared like they were eaten whole. 

When Ignis released his hands, the red spots, so angry just a second ago, had disappeared. Noctis expected nothing less, of course, but still he blinked and poked at his skin to feel the improvement. It was real, this had happened. This was the first time that Ignis had worked magic on him, Noctis realized, and this seemed like a rather guttural reaction for something as small as minor burns. “Thank you,” he said eventually, looking up at the Divine Messenger, searching his face for clues of the reasons of his actions. Noctis couldn’t discover anything, as Ignis’ eyes were distant, like he was a lifetime away from Noctis. Still, the sound of Noctis’ voice seemed to pull him back, and he looked down with a smile. 

“You’re very welcome.” Whatever had got him so shaken, he seemed to be over it now. Straightening up, he inspected the apartment, and very delicately sniffed the air. “Noct, you said something about dinner?” 

“My goulash!” Noctis wailed, now that he too was shaken from his stupor and remembered the pot that he was supposed to be stirring. He threw the ladle and warped to where it’d landed (this was the reason why he’d used up so many ladles), quickly turning off the stove and grabbing the pot – this time at the handles where he was supposed to thankfully – heaving it to the counter. “Look what you did! I was doing perfectly well until you showed up and distracted me!”

[ ](https://monzy-atelier.tumblr.com/post/180111161270/noctis-cooks-or-tries-to-an-illustration)

“My apologies,” Ignis said, and the laughter was clear in his voice. Well, Noctis was a little reassured now. He’d thought Ignis had gone somewhere in his head where Noctis couldn’t reach him, but apparently watching Noctis act like a class A klutz was enough to bring him back. “I’m sure it’s still delicious, even though I’d suggest we avoid scraping the bottom of the pot.” He walked up next to Noctis to peer into the pot and closed his eyes for a moment to breathe in the smell. “Ah, I don’t believe I’m familiar with this dish. How did you come up with it?”

Noctis wasn’t a hundred per cent sure Ignis was not just humoring him, but he wouldn’t turn down the chance to sound like he knew what he was doing. “It’s a goulash,” he said, bending over to find two large, deep plates and placing them on the counter, so he could start ladling the thick stew into them. “It’s Prompto’s idea. The goulash, I mean, he thought they would be hard to mess up. As for all this, well,” he shrugged, even if he himself felt that his nonchalance was painfully forced. “You’re always cooking for me, so I thought I’d do something for a change.”

Well, screw cleaning up now. Noctis plonked the plates onto the table. “Could you get the wine? I’ll cut the bread.” He seized the loaf, and at Ignis’ disapproving look he snorted a little. “Please, Iggy. Don’t pretend like you don’t know I have had plenty of wine at state dinners. If you’re gonna be mad at me, be mad at Gladio too, he was the one who swiped this from his dad’s wine cellar for me. Feel free to criticize his tastes if the wine isn’t up to your standards, by the way.” When Ignis’ scoff took on the shape of a laugh, Noctis knew he’d successfully convinced him and grinned to himself as he continued to hack the rest of the bread into chunks. 

Ignis made a small contented hum as he inspected the label of the wine. Noctis paused in his task for a beat (not wanting to risk sawing off a finger with the bread knife) to watch him uncork the bottle like a professional sommelier, placing the bottle down on the table to breathe. As always, Ignis seemed to feel him staring, and glanced over with an indulgent smile. “Why don’t you get changed,” Ignis suggested, running his fingers over the rim of a bowl and squaring it in the middle of the placemat. Noctis suppressed the urge to rub his eyes, not because he knew that he would only rub breadcrumbs into his eyes, but only because he was afraid to confirm that Ignis was actually nervous. “I’ll finish the set up, and we can be at ease for dinner.”

Well, as much as Noctis would’ve liked not to let Ignis do anything this evening, he couldn’t help but admit that sitting across from his crush for the entire evening in a shirt covered with tomato sauce was not his idea of a good time. Ignis didn’t seem to mind, and Noctis was sure that his success in producing a whole edible meal should count for something, even if he had made quite a mess. So he hurried off into the bathroom for a quick shower, and pulled on some fresh clothes after leaving the soiled ones in the sink to soak. 

When he padded out, fresh and tender-skinned from the hot water, Ignis had gotten the counter wiped down and the dishwasher loaded. He’d somehow sensed Noctis approach (he couldn’t have heard, bare foot on thick rug and all) and had gotten up to pull out the bowls of goulash that had been kept warm in the oven. “There you are,” he said lightly, the corner of his lips quirked up in the slightest smile. “I’m starving.”

The emphasis he put on the word made Noctis burst out in laughter. As he slid over to the chair and took his place at the table, as he had done a thousand times, he realized the strangest thing. While Ignis had pulled the heat from his burn just a moment earlier, it felt as if he’d just returned that spark ten times over. It was such a gentle heat, like he’d somehow reached into Noctis’ heart and stirred the ashes to reveal glowing coals that had always been there, just waiting to be rekindled. As Noctis pondered over that tender fire, savoring the way it spread to the very extremities of his body, as he looked up on Ignis’ smiling face, he knew two things: one, that the spark had always been a part of him, and two, that this tentative fire was only meant to grow into something stronger, and as it did, it would temper Noctis at his very core and make him stronger, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait - it had been a hectic month for both of us. We took advantage of Monzy's burst of productivity to bring this chapter to you! Though tbh I can't wait to post the next one bc it's one of my favorite that i've written!! :3c  
> Thank you for your comments and support - they really keep us going!  
> Come hang out with us on our Tumblr: https://monzy-atelier.tumblr.com and https://mirisprouts.tumblr.com


	12. 11. ignis

Now that he’d spent a little more time with Prompto and Gladio, Ignis realized that they admired his schedule. In fact, Prompto had more than once exclaimed that he didn’t know _how_ Ignis managed to fit everything he did into the short twenty-four hours they were allotted each day. The question was clearly rhetoric. As much as they claimed to admire what he did, they still kind of took it for granted, thinking it was only normal that Ignis could do so many things. Even if they didn’t know the whole truth of his identity, he was still a Divine Messenger to them, and so must have arcane and mysterious ways to do the impossible, apparently. 

Ignis wouldn’t try to explain; he was more than happy to let them believe this. It was simply too depressing to go nit-picking about. For one thing, while he was Astral he was hardly master of the universe. The ban on meddling with human affairs could hardly be lifted simply because the Chosen King had accepted him into his entourage. If anything, being part of Noctis’ retinue only meant he had to be doubly scrupulous about his impartiality, and a good way to do so was to respect the limits of what he could do in this form, as ‘Ignis’. 

So no, Ignis was not warping space to be in two places at once, and he was definitely not bending time in order to fit more hours in the day. He was doing everything he could within the limits he was imposed, and even so he found it was hard _not_ to do so much. Lucis was still very much at war, and Eos’ existence as a whole was still constantly under threat. Taking care of Noctis was not even a task to him; it was just his default functions, the status quo, his instincts. Little by little, Ignis found that it was easy to extend these instincts to include Gladio and Prompto within his parameters of care. Even so, wrangling three difficult young adults – for that was what they were now, hardly teenagers anymore – who were each struggling with a difficult backgrounds of their own was the least of his concerns. Joining the Crownsguard training was a task that he enjoyed – though Levi couldn’t believe that he had the patience for teaching. These duties were relatively uncomplicated, compared to the other things he had to do to assist the King’s peace effort for Lucis. 

King Regis… hadn’t trusted him at first. Ignis thought it wise of him, and really, it wouldn’t be fair to ask for blind faith from a man that the Astrals would see robbed of his only son. But somehow, Noctis had managed to improve his opinion of Ignis. Ignis assumed that the Prince had spoken so often of Ignis in conjunction with Gladio and Prompto that it broke down Regis’ reserves, and now the King just lumped him in the same category as Noctis’ friends. In favor of this theory, Ignis had noticed that Regis did treat him much like he would the other two. Sometimes, when he was particularly absent-minded, he would even call Ignis ‘boy’ or give him a fatherly pat on the shoulder. And then, even when he remembered himself, he wouldn’t bother to act embarrassed about it. 

It didn’t mean the King forgot who Ignis was, on the contrary. Everyday there was a new reminder from him for Ignis to earn his keep if he wanted to keep magically hovering around Noctis. Regis had quickly caught onto the fact that cooking Noctis’ meals and taking care of him were privileges to Ignis, not chores, and so he took it upon himself to personally assign Kingly errands for Ignis to fill in his ‘off’ hours. Most of Ignis’ meetings were scheduled by the King, and Ignis was at his discretion to pencil himself in for further meetings if he needed more information. He could be physically present at these meetings if the situation called for it, but his presence in the Insomnian court was still largely an unpublicized secret, so he mostly cloaked himself from prying eyes. Any of the report that reached the King Ignis had access to, and sometimes Regis just straight up dropped a fat file for him to read and report on later. From time to time, if the situation called for it, Ignis acted as Regis’ eyes and ears. Leaving the safety of the Wall, he traveled from campfire to campfire to reach dangerous, remote areas, to verify reports or examining the extent of damages such and such events had left in the country. 

The others would be outraged to know that one of the Astral was being used as some sort of glorified clerk, but it suited Ignis fine. It kept him in the loop of the human scheming that he was still not allowed to participate in. Without Regis’ tutelage in these matters, Ignis knew he would still be out of his depths, for all that he was thousands of years old and held powers untold. Incidentally, whenever a matter regarding the Astrals came up, these news were always addressed by Regis to him directly and without delay. 

That was how Ignis came upon ‘Project Godslayer’ the first time. 

He was in Regis’ study still, as the King had gravely slid a single report over the desk – an alarming enough event on its own, considering the thickness of reading material he usually gave Ignis – and insisted that Ignis read in on the spot. Ignis still couldn’t believe his eyes when he’d read over it once, and he had to sit down and read it again while the King and his loyal Shield looked on. By then, Ignis wasn’t even aware of their presence anymore. The words he read all merged into a roar of blood in his ears, and suddenly his mind was filled with other monstrous sounds that had no place here in this peaceful study, at the very heart of Insomnia, where the King held his sanctum. 

Somehow, the Empire had managed to get their hands on one of the old inventions of Solheim. A contraption that Ignis had the misfortune to know intimately. The millennium of waiting and longing had washed his mind of any other substance, muted any other feelings and memories that didn’t belong to his mortal love. Now, all he had thought forgotten were brought back to the surface with a single word, _Omega_. “They have not yet succeeded in bringing the metal monster back to life,” he said aloud, suddenly, foolishly. It wasn’t as if Regis had needed that to know the content of the report. It was Ignis who needed the confirmation from the King and Clarus of this tiny consolation that did little to quench his shameful fears. They did not give him a verbal confirmation, but their silence was somehow encouraging enough. Ignis spoke on. “They intent to use what they have learned from its stripped carcass to fashion a Godslayer of their own.” Another pause, another confirmation of silence, and Ignis turned to the report again. “They plan to use it on Shiva. As a ‘test’, of the monster’s ability to destroy the divine.”

In a small corner of his mind, Ignis was glad for this information. Thanks to this tidbit, he was able to pass his guttural reaction to news of the Godslayer off as concern for Shiva, rather than age-old fears brought to life at the mere mention of what should, by all means, be a heap of scrap metal. His dismay must have shown on his face, somehow, or in his eyes, for when he looked to Regis, the King recoiled slightly and Clarus imperceptibly moved to place himself in front of him. 

If Ignis had been more articulate, he would’ve been able to tell them that his ill will was not directed at the current King of Lucis. He was seeing smoke and ashes from across the millennium, the old civilization in revolt. Raw from the death of the King of Stars, Ignis had been oblivious to the unrest that was stirring in Solheim. He had not been aware that they had expected him to make of his mortal love a God-King. They felt betrayed that, for reasons they couldn’t imagine, their King had refused immortality, and Ignis had let him. In their eyes Ignis had not held up his end of the bargain, failing to give them an immortal King to compensate for the outrage of his presence within their mighty city. Most bitterly of all, they blamed him for the lack of a legitimate heir. 

Some of them had been complacent with their powers, drunk on the vision of their own grandeur, and truly believed their rousing speech where they reviled the Gods they did not need. Others merely took advantage of the unrest as they tried to seize powers of their own. Still, among all that turmoil, Ignis had not dreamed that they would think he conspired to be King, now that his love was gone. He had not expected them to turn on him.

Most importantly, he had not foreseen how close the people of Solheim would come to succeeding. 

It took Ignis a moment to realize the smoke that he smelled wasn’t only in his mind anymore. Following Clarus’ gaze, he looked down to the arm of his chair and realized it had started to smoke where he had been gripping it. “Apologies,” he managed to unhinge his jaw enough to utter the word, and tapped his fingers to call the heat back. It was too late, though; the budding fire could be drowned but the scorch marks could not be erased from the aged mahogany. Before he could damage any more furniture, Ignis stood up. “I suppose your Majesty wants actions to be taken?”

“Far be it from me to assume I can save an Astral,” Regis returned. He had leaned back against his chair – the same chair where Noctis had curled up to cry all those years ago, Ignis vaguely recalled – and he was pretending Ignis’ brief meltdown had not happened, which Ignis was infinitely thankful for. “But I do what I can. If you think Insomnia can help in any way, by all means—“

“It’s a generous offer,” Ignis cut in. “But I would rather not strain your resources right now.” He paused. Took a moment to breathe. “May I be excused? I need to let Noctis know I would be away for a while.”

*

Naturally, he couldn’t afford to take too long on preparations, but the time he spent doing these menial tasks did wonders for Ignis’ nerves. It helped him calm down enough to consider his options and think about where he was heading to with a clear mind.

It also helped that Noctis didn’t really realize the importance of this excursion. Ignis had gone on other errands for the King before, and the preparations these times had not been much different from what he was trying to do now. It was not a particularly busy time in the school year for Noctis; in fact, it was so close to graduation that going to class was only a formality. Even accounting for the extra training and club activities, the Prince should have ample spare time to nap or do whatever he wished. So Ignis only stocked up his freezers, adding to the note he’d made during previous occasions on proper reheating method and time for each dish he’d put in there. He made sure Noctis’ overdue library books were returned, and penned another note with suggestions of further reading materials related to the subjects Noctis was currently interested in. He took a whole afternoon to do laundry, washing all the clothes and changing all the sheets. Then, and only then, did Ignis feel ready to leave and do what he must be done. 

It had not been dawdling around, not for him. Watching Noctis as he went about his chores, looking at the inanity of the Crown Prince bent over math homework, bickering with his friends over a game, or just lounging on the couch tapping away of his phone, Ignis was reminded fully of what he was trying to protect: this peace. Not Lucis’ peace, not even Eos’ peace. Noctis’ peace was all that really mattered.

To protect that peace, to keep him as far away as he could from the prophecy, why, Ignis would bury old terrors and go look at the Godslayer. With that determination in mind, he said no goodbye. Ignis had just told Noctis that he wouldn’t be there the next day, that he would need to be away for a while. It was not an untruth, but there was definitely a gross omission, and Ignis tried not to feel guilty as Noctis nodded at him absently before returning to his game. 

After Noctis had gone to bed, Ignis traveled all night. In this disguise, he could only go as he had always done: moving from open flame to open flame, quick hops but a slow process to cover the continent, and the ocean that separated him and his destination. Better this, though, than risk the Empire catching wind that another Astral had ‘awakened’. Ignis cringed at even the thought of giving them more ideas.

He crossed the desert and came straight into blinding white snow. There, condensing out of a whirl of white snowflakes, Shiva burst out and threw her arms around him. She had raised her defenses, covering the Ghorovas Rift with rampaging blizzards. But this was not enough to deter intruders, especially not when they had an army of machines. Niffheilm stood their ground and gathered their force, and Shiva was grim. She knew the fight for her life drew near. 

_Are you going to offer to take care of it for me, little brother?_ She asked in his ear, in the sounds of snowdrift. _Don’t feel like you have to. I know this is one thing you cannot bear._ Ignis didn’t reply, staring grimly into the distance where the Niffheilm research center burned a white halo of electric light into the stormy sky. _Did you know that I formed a covenant with Lunafreya?_ That did jerk him from his thoughts and he looked over at her, astonished. She chuckled, the sound of an ice stalactite finally releasing its hold on a rooftop and crashing to the snow-laden ground. _Yes. I am burdened with this promise now. I will fight, if I need to. I will do much if there is a chance of weakening Niffheilm, if it means giving a chance to her._

_There’s no need for fatalism, Shiva,_ Ignis scolded her. She had told him that she would fight, and yet, it only bolstered his determination to go in her stead. _A fight with the Gods may look good for the mortals, but we do not have to play by their script. After all, we’re the ones with something to lose. Not them._

_I didn’t think I’d see the day where you instruct me in subtleties,_ she told him, resting a hand on his cheek. He felt the frost nip at his human skin. _What will you have me do?_

Ignis looked at the research facility again, and then at Shiva. “I need you to hide me,” he said aloud, and she nodded.

Her hand shifted from his cheek to his neck, where her other hand joined it. She squeezed. Ignis gasped, but only once, before he had folded to the snow-covered field and grew limp. Shiva floated above him now, but her hands were still bearing down, harder and harder. She was not preventing him from drawing breath, quite the opposite. The air she blew into his lungs were glacial, each breath might well be a spear of ice driving all the way through him. The ice formed a cage around his heart-flame until it was only embers, and then it stopped its ruthless progress, instead curving protectively around the sputtering fire.

  
[ ](https://monzy-atelier.tumblr.com/post/180834510375/shiva-lends-a-helping-hand-an-illustration)

Then Shiva pulled the snow from the ground and made of it a coat for him, packing layers and layers of it onto him until he folded onto himself and became small, and malleable to her hands. She shaped him into the little animal with big ears and a fluffy tail that she was fond of. _You make a cute snow fox,_ she told him, as he sat and licked his paw. He yipped, and dipped his head.

Silver spilled from his neck to fall and pool on the snow. Shiva reached out a hand to pick up the necklace – Noctis’ gift to him, the only thing he had on him that didn’t belong to their realm. She nodded, and folded her palm around it. Though Ignis did not know where it vanished to, he knew it was safe in Shiva’s care, as safe as his heart-flame was within its prison of ice. He yipped at her again and jumped, diving into the snow as if searching for the necklace, and she laughed. _Go then, little brother. Wherever you see the frost, know that I am with you._

*

It was hard to remember things while in animal form. To make a convincing animal, to survive while being so small, he had to think like an animal did: in flashes of images and scents. The concept of timeline didn’t exist then, and when he returned all the memories just dropped, jumbled, into his mind. On a good day, it’d take a while to straighten them out. Ignis didn’t want to, though. He knew what he had come for, and he knew that he had achieved it. 

The old Godslayer stayed dormant, the broken old metal soldered together half-haphazardly by whatever means the Niffheilm engineers saw fit. Patched together of old bones, it stood quietly among its swaying scaffolding, without which it would surely fall and crumble. Ignis looked upon it, and while it had been in the fox’s nature to be cautious, he did not sense the thrumming malice that had once animated this being. It had taken all the fox’s courage to come closer, just enough to dislodge a few screws, sending the whole thing tumbling down. Then, amidst the chaos that caused, it had been almost child’s play to carry several pieces – small but vital, if memory served – and dropped them into the ravine, sending them hurling down along with the snowdrifts. His big fox ears could not even catch the sound of the pieces falling.

The new Godslayer, however, was alive, albeit in pregnancy. It was bare and made of stripped metal, but Ignis could see its core. It was alive, a whirling mass of red and black that churned constantly, as if wanting to draw more darkness into it. It hummed to the darkness, a song that made his fur stood on ends. 

It could not be allowed to exist.

The Empire, in its immense ambition, made his task easy for him. With an ember left to light the Empire’s missiles and fuels with, Ignis had all the tools he needed. He stayed long enough to whisper to the fire, to sing praises to it as he led it through the maze of the facility. Weaving between slumped magitek armors, dropships and ammo stores, he pointed out to the fire the rich nourishment it would soon feast on. He fled before the fire broke into a rampage, just before his fox fur was scorched, leaving behind the cackling of the fire. 

Fire was his, usually, but this one, born so close to the heart of the new Omega, had to be flattered into obeying him. One wrong word, and it might very well kill him. Ignis had no words to describe the relief when he was safely in the snow, where the tainted fire couldn’t reach. He shivered as Shiva peeled the ice off of him, layer by layer. Slowly he unfolded, but it still took him a while to be able to move. 

“Let it all burn,” he told her. It was hard to feel any sense of triumph; his body was heavy, his very heart-flame was sick with weariness from the things he had seen. Most of all, he was restless with the knowledge that what he had done had been only a temporary measure, like slapping a band aid on top of an open wound. Well, it was a little less pointless in that it would buy them a little more time. “When the fire had done its work, cover it all up, won’t you? Encase the carcass of that thing in ice.” He paused, before deciding that no, he didn’t care if he sounded spiteful, or, more likely, like a scared child. “Don’t let me have to look at it again.”

_I have you, little brother,_ She said. Silver played between her fingers, and Ignis let out a bone-rattling breath of relief as he felt the metal of Noctis’ necklace against his skin, the pendant nestling at the hollow of his throat. Then he felt the beginning of sleep – the kind of sleep that Shiva mastered, the sleep of those who fell in the snow and didn’t find the courage to stand and walk again. The sleep like a shroud that she was trying to wrap him in – only temporarily, he knew, because she thought she could give him rest. She used to be able to, long ago, but it had been a long time since it was not enough anymore. Almost violently, he shook her off. 

“No, Shiva,” Ignis whispered, delighted in seeing his breath – his breath – coming out in a fog in front of his eyes. “I have to go home.”

  
[ ](https://monzy-atelier.tumblr.com/post/180834508860/the-little-arctic-fox-a-companion-piece-to)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whee! Two whole illustrations for you guys!  
> In this chapter you see what I do best: steal some lore from canon and invent my bullshit around it!  
> This chapter was really the best of us: this was the favorite chapter that I've written for this story so far, and Monzy was very pleased with her illust. too! I hope you enjoy it and please don't forget to leave a comment, we BOTH get to see your lovely words to us!


	13. 12. noctis

Noctis was an adult. He firmly believed so, even if that simple and universal fact was still Dad’s favorite topic for gentle teasing and Gladio’s go-to point whenever he wanted an easy win in any argument. Up until now Noctis had been confident enough about his ability to fend for himself in this cruel world and had always been able to parry off Gladio’s ribbing. Now? He wasn’t so sure anymore. Before Ignis had left, he’d made only one request: that Noctis took proper care of himself. As much as he would have liked to deny it, Noctis was sure he’d gone and failed step one. 

In his defense, it wasn’t really his fault. He’d done all he was supposed to do and followed instructions to a t, _within reasons_. He’d eaten all his meals, even resisting the siren lure of his soft, cool bed in the morning to wake up and have a proper breakfast (but only on most days. Baby steps. Even Ignis wouldn’t ask more of him.) He’d hardly ever stayed up past one to play video games, and he’d turned in the last of his assignments on time. He’d read every report, and had shown up to a banquet held at the Citadel exactly on time and he’d done his own goddamn tie in a double fancy double Windsor knot and even waxed his own goddamn shoes, too. They were so _shiny_ you could use them as mirrors, and if Ignis were here he would undoubtedly compliment Noctis on his shoe-shining skills. Big step up in life, that.

And yet, Noctis was still defenseless against something as banal as a common cold.

He hadn’t gone to the doctor’s yet, and to be fair, the symptoms hardly seemed worth the fuss at the beginning. But they accumulated over the first week that Ignis had been gone, and by the second week they became constant enough that even Noctis could tell he was coming down with something. Could a common cold account for this ache that started in the center of his chest and seemed to spread out over him, leaving his fingertips and toes perpetually numb with cold? The way the cold left him shivering on what should be warm afternoons of a mild spring melting into a potentially glorious summer, it felt as if ice radiated out from the marrow of his very bones. 

He’d stripped the couch bare of its fluffy throw blankets to add all of them to his bed, where he spent most of his time these last few days with only the phone to keep him company. _’There’s an entire pack of Sabertusks scraping their spines up my throat,’_ he texted his friends. _‘That’s your excuse for getting out of training?’_ Gladio returned, but a while later, he did soften up and sent, _‘Get well soon, buddy’_ (presumably after Iris had yelled at him for being mean.) _‘Tell me if you need to see the physician, Noct,’_ Dad sent, and Noctis sneezed as he considered that offer. _‘Maybe some tea?’_ Prompto suggested. _‘You do have tea, right?’_

Noctis did, a small selection of aromatic blends that Ignis had picked out to keep him going during his late night studies. He’d already thought about this small comfort and had made himself plenty, even going to the extravagance of adding honey into his tea. The concoctions did help, but only for the moment where they went down his throat. Whatever warmth they brought were quick to vanish away into the hollow cave that his chest seemed to have become. Afterwards the tea left a sour taste in his mouth and a kind of burning sensation in his stomach and in his esophagus, the combination of which left him restless as he flopped around the bed like the most graceless of beached whales. Eventually he ran out of mugs because he had not managed to find the will to wash the ones he’d used, and then he gave up on the tea altogether.

Maybe he should’ve ingested something that wasn’t just hot leaf juice. But with the cold firmly clutching his insides, Noctis thought he could be excused if he didn’t have much of an appetite. He _wanted_ to eat, and that was the worst part – he would hear his stomach rumble and find himself mentally cataloguing all the delicious food that Ignis had left in his freezer. The thought of a hot meal would tempt him out of bed, drive him shuffling into the kitchen with a blanket around his shoulders. It took some squinting at the instructions to properly reheat a meal, then he would be sitting at the counter with the foil packet open in front of him, steaming and piping hot and smelling so good. Then, after he’d gone through all that effort, he would take a bite and he would feel full. No, it was nothing as pleasant as feeling full. It was more that his stomach would rebel and started yanking on all his nerves until it hit nausea central and then kept smashing that button until Noctis got the hint.

It was not okay to have his body rebel against him this way. Noctis huffed and sulked as he curled up in bed, winding the blanket around his frozen toes in hope to warm them up. It was worse than being sick normally, somehow – this time, Noctis felt like he was less of himself. As he lied on the bed and gazed out the window at the violently blue sky and the bright golden sunlight, he felt like he was transparent. Like half of the atoms making up his being had conspired against him and fucked off somewhere without permission. He felt more flimsy than the wisps of clouds that wandered the noon sky, the ones that went through great pains to take form only to be burned through by the relentless sun. As he considered his misery he always came back to one point: that Ignis would know what to do. And that Ignis wasn’t here.

How long did Ignis say he would be gone for? Noctis was pretty sure he had been in the middle of a heated match on Castle when Ignis had told him about his assignment, and now he fervently wished he’d put down the damn controller and listened properly for once. If he had, then now he’d know. But then again, had Ignis ever told him the length of his missions? He wasn’t sure. Ignis usually said that he would be back soon, and so far, Noctis had not had any reason to require more information than that. Where did he go, packing off in such a hurry? What did he mean by ‘soon’? The Astrals lived for eternities, and Divine Messengers must exist on a separate plane altogether from the humble mortals. Did ‘be back in a jiffy’ mean ‘I’ll return in a decade’ in divine speech? 

The more he thought on this, turning it over and over in his brain, the more childish Noctis felt, and yet he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t stop thinking about Ignis, wondering whether he was safe. Whether he would be disappointed in Noctis if he came home to find Noctis in a heap like the world’s sorriest bundle of dirty laundry. Did Ignis even think of Noctis’ place as home, he wondered? Or was Noctis just one of the many charges he was looking after to insure the continued existence of the universe, and all his acts of attention and care and utter tenderness were just that, mere duties? Nothing personal? 

Did Ignis know Noctis was thinking of him?

*

Noctis dozed without knowing how long he slept. The shifting light from outside the window hardly meant anything to his groggy mind. He was so deeply tangled in lethargy that the sound of the apartment door opening hardly raised an alarm. It wasn’t until he heard his name called aloud that he realized that yeah, maybe he should answer that. “In here,” Noctis said, gathering all his breath to make himself heard. He heard footsteps, tracking the sound from his living room to his bedroom. When he heard the door of the bedroom click open, he raised a hand and managed a little half-hearted wave.

He’d thought it was Prompto or Gladio, or even Dad, coming to check on him. He hadn’t expected the bed to shift and in a split second, Ignis’ face was taking up his whole field of view. It was Ignis – and some part of Noctis was immediately excited over this, but the rest of him couldn’t yet quite follow. Ignis looked… tired, Noctis realized. He looked about as shitty as Noctis felt, and while that might serve him right for going off and leaving Noctis alone for so long, Noctis felt that he didn’t like for Ignis to look this tired, either. The lines on his face were a little deeper, and there was a dent between his brows that might as well be a chasm for how deep it was, especially since he was frowning down at Noctis. Was he angry? No, the brush of his knuckles over Noctis’ brows was so tender. When Ignis rested a palm against Noctis’ forehead he groaned and leaned into it. The weight of it was so comforting, but more importantly, Ignis was so _warm_. 

“I’m cold,” Noctis managed, pressing both his hands against Ignis’ on his head. He didn’t like how whiny his voice sounded, but that was just the truth and it was out there. Greedily he ran his hands up Ignis’ arm, letting out small hums of relief as he did so. Ignis’ skin was the only really warm thing that he’d felt for weeks and already the numbness of his fingers was melting away. “I thought you’d be gone forever,” Noctis continued, and felt every muscle in Ignis’ body jumped as the man stared down at him with eyes like a deer. Noctis pushed on. “Please, Ignis. Are you back for good? Can you stay? I did everything you told me to, but I’m just so cold.”

Ignis’ pulse wasn’t like the heartbeat of a normal person, and Noctis had given up trying to figure out what the roaring sensation he felt whenever their bare skin touched reminded him off. But Ignis’ pulse did quicken at Noctis’ words, as did his breathing, short, frantic puffs, and Noctis realized that he was scared. He was afraid for Noctis, for some reasons, and Noctis felt like he needed to reassure him. “No, don’t freak out. I might look like shit but this is just a cold, I’m sure.” 

With considerately dramatic timing, his body decided then it was the good time to start up a cough. Noctis curled up on himself as the cough wracked through his body, and he felt like he would probably have flicked off the bed like a demented shrimp if not for Ignis’ hand, splayed over the center of his chest, keeping him still. From here, he could see past the barrier of his glasses, to see that Ignis’ eyes were glowing gold. Noctis only had a second to wonder what it was all about, and then he let out a gasp.

It felt as if for the last two weeks his heart had been stolen from him without him even knowing it, and now it was being slid back into place. It felt as if he could feel the sun for the first time. The warmth burst out from within him the way a ray of sunlight exploded into prismatic colors as it reflected off of the many facets of a crystal. The relief was immense, and Noctis couldn’t help but cling onto Ignis’ arms with both hands. He didn’t even realize he was hindering more than he was helping, and he hardly needed to drag Ignis to him so obsessively, because Ignis was already climbing onto the bed to be closer to him.

It was amazing how he didn’t even take off his shoes, how his glasses went askew as he pressed his cheek to the top of Noctis’ head. Noctis would’ve commented on how uncharacteristically sloppy Ignis was being, except he didn’t want Ignis to leave, and he hardly wanted this moment to end. “I’m here,” Ignis whispered, further anchoring the reassurance, and the last of Noctis’ tension was chased from his body along with the cold. He did not mind Ignis stating the obvious, because there was a small part of him that was still terrified that all of this was a fever dream and that Ignis was not really here. “I’m here, Noct. You know I wouldn’t be gone for good. I would never leave you.”

Gods, his feelings were already all over the place but hearing Ignis say those words just really made Noctis’ lips all wobbly, like he had been done a great wrong. He was sorry to report that he was pouting, very much petulant, even as he let Ignis fold him into his arms. If he moved at all it was only to shift himself to press as much of himself against Ignis as possible. Even through their clothing he could feel the warmth radiating from Ignis, and he eagerly soaked up every bit like a cat in a patch of sunlight. “I don’t like it when you’re not here,” he said, frowning, as he took Ignis’ arms and pulled them closer around himself, so that Ignis’ hands rested squarely in the middle of his chest. “I hate it when you’re not here, Ignis.” 

A part of him was scandalized at how childish he sounded, how he thought he was so entitled that he could make demands of a Divine Messenger. He half felt like he should drop to his knees and beg the Gods pardon, to convince them he wasn’t a spoiled child making unreasonable demands of his helpers. But Ignis wasn’t outraged. All he did was let out a shaky breath – Noctis could feel it tremble against his skin – and he buried his face into Noctis’ shoulder. His glasses must have fallen off completely, because Noctis didn’t feel them dig into him at all. “I’m sorry,” Ignis told him in a voice that was close to a sob. “I wouldn’t have been gone for so long if it had not been absolutely necessary. I wouldn’t have left at all.” He drew in a breath then, as if he had something more to say, but it took a moment before he said it, his soft shaky breath tickling the side of Noctis’ neck. “Everything I do, I do it for you.”

And there Noctis had his answer. Did Ignis consider Noctis ‘home’? He did, Noctis was sure, and more. He had not said the word ‘love’, and yet there was so much of it dripping from every word that came out of his mouth, in every touch he was pressing against Noctis’ skin. In this moment Noctis was certain it was not only duty that tied Ignis to him. It was more than that, and Noctis couldn’t yet tell what it was, but he already knew for certain that he felt the same.

“Stay,” he said, finally. His eyelids were growing heavy, so much warmth suffusing his body and making him groggy, this time in the best way. He found Ignis’ hand and pried it off of him, only so he could lace his fingers into Ignis’, making a secure knot. “Don’t leave again so soon, okay? Stay with me.”

*

Noctis didn’t recall falling asleep, but he must have, because he hadn’t noticed Ignis leaving the bed. Still, his absence didn’t alarm him. The bed was still warm, and there was a trace that was so undeniably him in the air that he might as well have trailed a silver thread with him where he went. As Noctis reached his hand over to the dent Ignis’ form had left on the mattress, he searched inside him for traces of the cold and the dread that had accompanied it. He found none of it, instead just feeling a profound sense of calm and contentment. 

The cold was all gone, and so was the fatigue that he’d been feeling for the last two weeks. Gone also was the feeling of being insubstantial and formless like so much smoke in the air. Noctis felt whole, bright, and brimming with energy. His heart thumped a steady beat against his chest, and he felt the tingle of Ignis’ presence on his skin. Soon enough his other senses – his very normal senses, not the magical ones – joined in confirming Ignis’ presence: the sound of kitchenware clattering and the faint yet enticing scent of melted butter in the air. 

This was not the first time Noctis had woken up to Ignis being here, of course. But this time, Ignis had slept in his bed, next to him. It should feel scary, but Noctis couldn’t help grinning to himself like an idiot. It felt right. He’d wanted this for so long, and it had happened, and while he would have gladly skipped the whole dramatic falling sick thing and worrying the hell out of everyone, Noctis was glad it had finally happened. He was so excited he couldn’t stay in bed any longer. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he padded over to the kitchen, found Ignis, and – after making sure the man was not handling anything pointy or hot – immediately adhered himself to Ignis’ back.

Noctis didn’t have to feel bad about his rumpled appearance. For once, Ignis also looked less than perfect. His hair wasn’t quite as perfectly styled, and the top button of his shirt was undone. There was a softer edge to him that made Noctis’ heart brim with joy, and that prompted Noctis to act on his instincts. His instincts were telling him to place his hands on Ignis’ hips, gently spinning him around, so Noctis could move his hands up to his chest and grabbed two handfuls of his shirt and pulled himself up on his tip toes so he could kiss him.

It was better than anything Noctis had expected. Ignis’ mouth was soft and the warmth of his lips as they pressed against Noctis’ was enough to make him melt. Ignis angled his head so their lips slotted together more perfectly, but otherwise he kept it soft and sweet, and his hands rested very decently on the small of Noctis’ back. Still, that was enough to make Noctis light-headed with pleasure, and he wobbled a bit before he fell back onto his heels, but still clutching Ignis’ shirt in his hand. The taller man didn’t seem to mind having to bend down a little, and in fact he craned his neck even more so his forehead touched Noctis’. “Good morning,” he said, and his voice reminded Noctis of apple pie, soft and buttery and ready to melt in your mouth. “I take it you’re feeling better today.”

“Yeah,” Noctis said. He hadn’t realized it, but he was grinning so hard his cheeks were starting to cramp. “Yeah. I’m feeling kind of amazing, actually.”

  
[ ](https://monzy-atelier.tumblr.com/post/181083647620/well-worth-the-wait-but-about-time-an)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo... can this still be counted as slow burn if they've already kisses?  
> I promise it's only the beginning of what we had in store for you! :3c  
> Won't be around until the new year, so we're wishing you happy holidays and a happy new year! Thank you for sticking with us this far and here's to hoping you'll stick with us through the next year to see this story finished!!


	14. 13. ignis

During the millennium of wait, Ignis wasn’t only mopping around looking at picture books and being miserable. He was also worrying – fretting, even, if he may use such an extreme word, which described such an extreme state of being – about a lot of things. For instance, he wondered whether his affection for his mortal love would fade over the years. The thought alone was a betrayal heavy enough to choke him, even if the possibility existed nowhere but in his head. He found himself doubting more and more often as the years wore on and even his recollection of the King’s face had become worn and indistinct. What was a love picked clean of its substance, as the memory of the man who had started it all frayed with the relentless tide of time? Would Ignis try to compensate by building the pedestal for his dead love higher and higher, scraping himself hollow for stones to put to the altar? The possibility that his love might turn into something obsessive and unreasonable tormented him. And the worst question of all: whether one day everything he had ever felt for the King of Stars would turn into bitterness, hatred against his love for leaving him alone for so long in the dark.

It turned out he had nothing to worry about at all.

Noctis was the lost Star that he had been searching the night sky for, there was no doubt about it. And yet his feelings for Noctis were nothing like wistful thinking, nothing so graceless as the desperate scrambling for a replacement. There had been not one moment where Ignis had wished to influence the person that Noctis was, so that he became more like the King of Stars as Ignis remembered. Ever since the first time he’d seen Noctis’ childish face in the garden and received the innocent affection that Noctis had offered to him so surely and so guilelessly, Ignis had vowed his devotion to Noctis and Noctis alone. 

Over the years, it was like falling in love over again. 

Little by little he was learning to know Noctis in all his strength and vulnerabilities. In return, Ignis was rewarded with the occasional glimpses of the space that Noctis had carved for him in his own heart. Ignis did not begrudge him for showing his affection so rarely. Even so young in this life, Noctis had gone through so much, and the trauma he’d bore was largely responsible for his reservation. Besides, Noctis’ affection was freshly formed, new and fragile, unlike the millennium-old diamond of Ignis’ feelings – formed at the center of his being and tempered by the heat of his heart-flame, until it was pure and bright like the core of a star. 

Now, though? Everything had changed. Noctis had taken a chance and kissed him. Ignis hadn’t even thought to demand it of him, and yet Noctis had given it to him, without thinking, without even knowing how much it meant to Ignis. It was a more precious offering than anything Ignis could ask for.

Kissing Noctis now reminded Ignis of the first time they kissed, as King of Stars and freshly tamed Astral, in their first life eons ago. Ifrit had only just made up his mind to shed his cloak of fire and radiance, to wrap himself in a mortal disguise, to make himself touchable – discovering for the first time what it was like to be fallible, and all for the sake of one man. It had seemed such a daunting change at the time, the loss of his powers and stature having seemed to Ifrit the ultimate sacrifice. Now, Ignis couldn’t even think of anything he wouldn’t sacrifice in return for this incredible sensation. It was warmth beyond even the power of the stars spreading in his chest, a ridiculous fluttering of butterflies in his belly, and an overwhelming fondness for the man he held in his arms. He had gone without him for a millennium, and he’d ached for him every day. He’d ached for him for so long that he didn’t remember a time that he was not hurting. Kissing Noctis now felt more right than being among the stars. It felt like finally going home.

[ ](https://monzy-atelier.tumblr.com/post/182351415955/ifrit-sheds-his-cloak-of-fire-illustration-for)

And yet, as incredible a step that first kiss had been, nothing substantial about their relationship had changed at all. Ignis had often heard description of what humans seemed to think of as the perfect love: a passionate, spontaneous explosion of feelings that swept both parties off their feet, changing their lives forever. His love for Noctis, both times around, was nothing like that. Yes, the very manner of his existence had been made to change, but it had only been a logical next step in the state of their relationship, as Ignis could hardly embrace his love while being a twenty feet tall pillar of flame and magma. The love itself, though, was a diligent, relentless stream slowly eating away the earth around it until it’d carved for itself a large riverbed, which turned its course tranquil, a trickle of water insinuating its way into the soil of their lives long before they realized that they were changed at all. 

And thus they fell in love. Quietly but steadily, their feelings grew enough to speak for themselves, needing no label. Noctis never really talked to him about how he felt, never asked Ignis for clarification, but there was no need for grand declarations. The changes in their routines might be subtle and only surface-deep, but they were enough to make Ignis’ heart soar. 

Noctis made sure to convey to him that he had the right to ask for physical comfort, in only one easy condition: that he provided the same in return. Several times a day, Noctis would surprise him at the kitchen counter (at non-lethal moments, thankfully), latching onto him until Ignis got the hint and gave him kisses. He’d demand cuddles as he sat and read books or played games with his phones, all but using Ignis as his new personal armchair. As he worked, Noctis would place himself closer to Ignis – close enough that he could claim a kiss each time he thought he’d made progress (and Ignis had yet to accuse him of cheating, for all he was concerned every kiss was well deserved). 

Just like that, Ignis’ time became Noctis’, and their schedules tangled hopelessly together. Needless to say, while he never outright abandoned the services he usually did for the King, it was becoming clearer and clearer which duty was Ignis’ priority. If Regis had noticed the new arrangement, he didn’t raise any objection. Until he did, and even if it was entirely not his doing, it was hard not to experience it like a betrayal. 

* 

Ignis only had himself to blame, as he of all people should have been able to see the early signs. 

At their weekly meeting, the King seemed distracted. He did go over Ignis’ reports, but the effort to keep up appearance taxed his patience. Still, he kept up the sham until the meeting had gone on for an appropriate amount of time before he sent Ignis away. Only then, pretending he’d had an afterthought, he called Ignis back, asking him to bring Noctis next time for a talk. 

His act had been obvious to Ignis, but he had only thought – what _had_ he thought, exactly? That Regis had wanted some father-son bonding time with Noctis but was too embarrassed to ask his son directly? That Regis wanted to discuss Noctis’ future now that the Prince had graduated from high school and was ready to broaden his horizons? Ignis didn’t know what he’d expected, and in hindsight, maybe he should have tried to pry out of the King the real purpose of this talk beforehand, to save both Noctis and himself from being so blind-sided. But he had let his guard down, complacent and stupid and feeling way too powerful, thinking his love secure. So he simply noted down the time and date for the next meeting. When the time came, he fulfilled his role as the faithful servant, putting Noctis in the car and driving him to the Citadel. 

“You know his Majesty wouldn’t have insisted, if it hadn’t been important,” he told Noctis, as they got closer to the Citadel. “So be patient and hear him through. Okay?”

Noctis made a cursory grumble, which made Ignis smile. He knew enough to identify it as a mere token protest, Noctis’ point of honor in defending his identity as a rebel and a militant against parental authority, royal though it might be. The truth was that Noctis probably appreciated the inclusion into royal schemes, and Ignis approved. He was proud, even, of Noctis’ straight-backed confidence as he strode into the Citadel, his expression just the right shade of neutral friendliness as he nodded his greetings to the guards and the people he walked past. 

Noctis gave Ignis a glance over his shoulder before knocking on the door of King Regis’ study, strolling in once he was given admission. No matter how frail he had become, Ignis suspected there was no force on Eos that would be able to keep Regis from walking towards his son or from hugging him so tightly Noctis had to squawk in protest. There was a strange tension in the King that Ignis had attributed to an accumulation of day-to-day stress. If he’d noticed the lines around Regis’ eyes, or the furtive looks he sent Noctis when his son’s attention was elsewhere, and the far-away look in his eyes when his son’s attention was on him – hellfire, if he’d even read Clarus Amicitia’s absence correctly, the warning bells should have been deafening. 

“Sit down, boys. We’ve got something rather important to discuss,” his Majesty urged. Ignis allowed himself one moment of amusement at how the King had subconsciously adopted him as his son’s companion, a ‘boy’ of Noctis’ entourage. He obeyed the command and exchanged a glance with Noctis as the King continued, “This is important, Noctis. I need you to listen closely.” The pause that followed was not for dramatic tension. Regis drew in a breath, steeling himself for the revelation that he was about to make. 

And it was then that Ignis felt the first inkling of troubles, and the mortal form of his body seemed better prepared than his mind. Even before the news struck, his body had sensed the disaster, and it had tensed in preemptive respond. His fingers flexed on the armrest of his chair. His chest heaved, drawing in an expectant breath. His eyes were on Regis, not missing even the smallest of his micro-gestures, but the King had eyes only for his son. “I had a visitor yesterday, from the Empire,” Regis announced, finally. “Chancellor Izunia came himself, offering means of negotiation.”

Ignis was frozen in shock, the air around him humming with involuntary discharge of energy. The name ‘Izunia’ rang next to his ear like a thunderclap, and he fought the urge to shake his head as if to chase an annoying fly. It took all of his effort to keep his expression neutral. The secret of Izunia’s true identity was too great, information too important to disperse, lest he changed the course of the human schemes around him forever. It didn’t mean he was less vigilant – though with how much this came as a shock, Ignis realized how much more vigilant he should have been. What was he thinking, letting his guard down at a time like this? He’d heard too much about the wretched immortal to not know all the things that creature could get up to, and that was even before he’d seen that name stamped all over the Omega project. Still, it was too late to blame himself, thinking of things he should have done. Ignis pushed his disgust down and focused on what Regis had to say.

A frown was forming between Noctis’ brows. “Why wasn’t I told about this sooner?” He asked, more concerned for his father than upset at being left out of state affairs. He was annoyed, put off, but no more – and Ignis couldn’t blame him. He didn’t know any better. He had no idea what he should fear from Izunia, couldn’t have known – nobody had told him, nobody could but the Astrals. And even with only instincts guiding him, Noctis knew to mistrust Izunia enough to feel unease at the idea of the man getting to his father alone. Only a small part of that instinct could be credited to the memory from a previous life, however. Noctis had spent a good part of his current life witnessing the Empire’s wretched ambitions set into motions, too. He knew exactly what they were capable of. 

Regis shook his head wearily. “We didn’t know he was coming. He’d taken only one engine and a skeleton crew. They’d seized an outpost at the city borders and made use of inner channels to request an audience with me.” The word ‘request’ was dripping with bitter sarcasm. “I allowed it, provided he come unarmed and unaccompanied. He complied.” He picked up his cane then and started to pace. Weak as he was he needed the activity to take his mind off of the nerves caused by what he was about to say. “The Chancellor was here to offer his terms for a peace treaty. Lasting truce, working towards a negotiation for peace, for Lucis and all its allies, with the Empire.”

“What?” Noctis’ brows shot up to his hairline a little more at each choppy sentence. “Are you serious? You don’t actually believe him, do you?” 

Noctis had leaned forward, more protests prepared and just ready to spill from his lips. Regis held up a hand to stop him. “I know what you’re going to say, Noctis. I don’t trust the Chancellor either. Not as himself and especially not as the representative of the Empire. However, even if the words were only a disguise on the surface, they were still the first mention of peace that we’d received from the Empire for decades. Many ambassadors had dedicated their whole lives for much less encouraging results. If I don’t at least try to work with Niffheilm on this, they would make sure our people feel the outrage.” He sighed, the idea that his people, the people he was trying so hard to protect, might be used against him, added years to his shoulders and bent his back a little further. It was easy to see why Noctis immediately deflated, his passion quieted. “Niffheilm may also take our refusal as a sign of hostility. We can’t afford that.” 

“So, what are their terms?” Noctis prompted, not allowing himself time to wallow. Ignis understood. He hardly wanted to dwell on the scheme for long. It was more productive to work on a solution than just sit here and let their outrage at Niffheilm’s ability to turn all information to their benefit turn into bitter envy. “What do they want?”

Regis sagged, and Ignis sat up that little bit straighter. It seemed they touched the real goal of the conversation, and Regis’ limit also. The King released each word as if it were a mouthful of ash. “A union, between Lucis and Tenebrae.” His eyes were steady on Noctis, however, unflinching even at the changes in his son’s expression. “A show of good faith, and the willingness to unify our nations under a common interest. A marriage, in other words.” The next words rang out with terrible finality. “A marriage between the Crown Prince of Lucis and the Oracle of Tenebrae.” A dreadful pause continued in their wake, and Regis must have seen something in Noctis’ face that Ignis didn’t, the young Prince’s face being turned away from his own. Ignis wondered what instinct dictated this, that Noctis tried to keep his defeat for himself. The King added, in a far gentler tone, and his expression softened as he leaned closer to his son. “Breathe, Noctis. It’s only Lunafreya.” 

Ignis had not felt anger such as this for a very long time. 

The anger seized him suddenly it was almost a surprise he hadn’t started blazing on the spot. Thankfully, he had had plenty of practice keeping his nature wrapped up in this disguise, and he had come a long way also from the last time he’d sat in the King’s study and almost set flames to the furniture. However, a lack of outwards manifestation of his anger didn’t mean it was mild. Stars, he was a fool to allow the Immortal Accursed to blindside him this way. How many of his little schemes had Ignis seen wrought over the years? 

The shock of the news sank in fast, though. Before long, Ignis was channeling his anger to a more productive goal, putting his brain to work – as he should have all along – trying to uncover the hidden motive behind the request. What could be the purpose of this union? Out of all the creatures on Eos, besides from the Astrals themselves, the Immortal was the only one to know the tale of Ifrit and his mortal King. But Ignis had been so careful to conceal his awakening, had taken every precautions to pass as a human at best and as a Divine Messenger at worst. Could Ardyn have seen through that, all the way from his stronghold where he worked his charms over the Empire? Was the Accursed trying to tempt Ifrit’s wrath down onto Tenebrae? Or was it more symbolic, and he wanted to lure an Astral to attack what appeared like an attempt at peace? 

The longer he thought, the more he feared there might be in this one request. Ignis felt out of his depth, lost. And he realized a terrible thing. He had spent so long pretending to be a human he’d lost his vantage point over the world, from his place where he might tease loose a thread of fate from the tapestry of the universe, where he could try and read the currents of the collective human existences to find a direction. He’d spent all his time trying to make sure he wasn’t denying Noctis the chance to become who he was. He had not remembered to make sure that him, Ifrit, did not forget what he was.

What would Shiva say, were he to ask her advice on this particular scheme? Would she counsel him to stay out of this human machination too? She couldn’t expect him to, not while she knew as well as he what marriage meant to humans. Regis had said, ‘It’s only Lunafreya’ and all Ignis could think was that it should have been _him_. But while he couldn’t stand aside and do nothing, what could he do? Ignis, for one, would never want to bring harm upon the Oracle, or either of the countries involved. He had spent so long watching both of them struggle for the smallest control over their countries, wrestling them from Niffheilm’s influence inch by inch, that he would not begrudge them their desperate actions. He couldn’t sabotage the treaty, either, for it risked open war with the Empire and countless life lost. 

As the net drew closer around, Ignis felt like he might suffocate, like he was already breathing in the acrid smoke of his heart-flame being smothered. Was he expected to just give Noctis up? Now that they had only properly found each other again?

*

The rest of the meeting went by almost in a blur, but maybe it had dragged on for hours. Ignis didn’t know, had no sense of the time that had collapsed and expanded between them. His focus wandered. First, he analyzed the situation, feeling almost detached from the turmoil they found themselves in. Then he had an awful feeling of déjà-vu – the helplessness he had felt watching Tenebrae burn, along with Noctis’ innocence, returning to prey on him again – and now he was still as helpless as he had been, if not more, his feelings for Noctis laid bare for the Prince to see. 

In the end, all Ignis could anchor himself on was Noctis, and yet he was not a reassuring sight either. Noctis looked almost ill. Ignis had watched his expression turned from anger to betrayal, and then hesitation. Now the fight had gone out of him, his heart-flame diming with each flutter of his eyelashes, as he seemed to fight the tears that wanted to come to his lids. Noctis had studied the situation and, like Ignis, he had found no way out. He had always known his duties, and now he knew he must face it, even if those duties included acting like a bargaining chip in a scheme he had no taste in being a part of. 

How used and how ill-used humans could allow themselves to be, in the hands of the ones closest to them, if they thought it was something that served their ideal. In the end, Noctis only wanted to protect his people, and so many of them depended on this little scheme. Lunafreya first of all, then Regis. Then it was all of Lucis, and all of Tenebrae. It would be easier if Noctis had only known of the countries as a concept, perhaps. But he had been within the people, had gone to school and lived his life among all of them. Possibly, the face of every stranger he had ever crossed was going through his mind right now. The faces of all the Glaives that had ever kept him safe, those of every of his classmates who had volunteered to join the army, who had been drafted to fight for his sake. All of these lives bearing down on him with the weight of responsibility until his shoulders and back bent under the load, until he resembled that crippled child who could not get up on his feet. Until he resembled the husk that his father was becoming. 

Ignis could not bear watching him walk so, with his head low and his heart lower, as they walked out of the Citadel and back to their car. Noctis didn’t seem to even notice Ignis’ hand in his. When Ignis squeezed his hand, hoping to deliver some comfort, Noctis only acknowledged it with the slightest raise of his head and a glance out of the corner of his eye. Ignis didn’t allow that to discourage him. “Noctis, just relax. Things might not be as dire as they seem. No matter what, you know I will always be at your side. In whatever capacity you need.”

It was not the right thing to say. Noctis jerked away like the words had stung him, pulling his hand free from Ignis’. His hand hung aimlessly at his side for a second, before he pulled up his shoulders and shoved both hands into his pocket. “I can’t do this here,” he said, his voice hoarse as he turned his head away. “Can we just go back to the apartment, please?”

“Of course.” 

Logically, Ignis knew he had nothing to do here, nothing to contribute. The first and foremost reason being Noctis didn’t seem to want him there, and he understood this perfectly. After such a revelation, Noctis needed space to process what was going to happen to him. It was almost ironic. They had gone into that meeting with such high hopes for Noct’s future, the young Prince brimming with excitement about his future duties and responsibilities. It must have been like a bucket of cold water to the face to find out what lied in store for him was to be used as a bargaining chip, a pawn, a marriage of convenience. 

Even as Ignis sympathized with Noctis, he found himself thinking of Lunafreya. What a blow this must be to her, just one more insult after a lifetime of insults. How was Shiva comforting her? How were they facing this? And this was the second reason Ignis should not stay. The Empire was setting a plan in motion, but what? What waited behind the disguise of this marriage, of this peace treaty? He didn’t know, and he should be frustrated with his ignorance, he should be itching to get away and _fix this_. But he couldn’t keep from dallying, hovering around Noctis and trying to lessen the blow somehow, even if it meant continuing to do the menial tasks that had got him so distracted from the big picture in the first place.

So Ignis drove Noctis back to his apartment. He parked the car, as they would every day, called the elevator which took them to Noctis’ floor. When they opened the door, it seemed strange that everything should be the same, despite the news that changed their lives forever. But the light from the buildings nearby fell on the furniture just the same, each patch of light and shadow remained in its place. In the sink, the mugs of coffee that Ignis had not had time to wash still waited, and Ignis knew there was a ring of stain on the counter that would perfectly match the bottom of one of the mugs. And yet the world was not the same. How could this be? As he ushered Noctis inside he tried to pretend otherwise. “Should I make you some coffee? Something to eat?”

“Nothing!” Noctis’ outburst was not quite a shout. But it was loud, and it slashed through the quiet room like a blade. Ignis watched Noctis’ hands go up to his hair and seize the inky black strands, which spilled through the gaps between his fingers. “I don’t want anything right now. Just stop!” Ignis hadn’t even realized he’d made a noise, or that he’d taken a step closer, so fast his body was in reacting to Noctis’ misery. But Noctis didn’t want sympathy, didn’t want reassurance. He wasn’t that boy crying in his father’s study anymore. He’d grown up, and Ignis could see his heart-flame burn for rage. “I just want to be alone! I can’t take this right now!” With that, he took off with brisk steps until he reached his bedroom and slammed the door. 

The door was reinforced steel, to be sure, but it still was nothing compared to the magic Ignis could invoke even in this form. Right now, though, it might as well be made by all the cold dead space between the stars. As he stared at it, Ignis understood very well why he had lingered. He had wanted to salvage their new relationship, this bond so new and so fragile it was like a silk thread a spider spun in a ferocious gale. It was severed now, as surely as if it had been sliced by a guillotine. Both of them still possessed the material to rebuild it, of course, to link themselves seamlessly to each other again, but it would take work. 

It was the way of the humans, wasn’t it? One step forward, two steps back. Except it hadn’t been just one step to Ignis, it had taken him a millennia and years, to be able to hold Noctis in his arms again. 

He had never hated humans more than in that moment. If the humans hadn’t messed up their existence so badly the Accursed would never had been made. If the corrupt humans of the Niffheilm hadn’t been created – hell, if only they hadn’t been allowed to remain in power for centuries, this wretched Empire would not even exist to contend with. Would that he could call down the stars to rain fire upon Niffheilm, so that all this jockeying for powers would stop and the rest of the world would be quiet. But such destruction would surely throw the rest of Eos into ruins, and… After all, humanity had given him Noctis, had it not? Not only once, but twice. Now that Ignis had lived among the humans, with those he might call friends, Ignis knew there were humans worth saving. And yet, being forced to sink to their level and play their games, and losing at that… It wasn’t just his pride they were going after. 

They had come for his heart, and it appeared that they had succeeded.

Ignis knew he had to leave. He was too angry, and he did not want to stand there to foul the air that Noctis breathe with his ugly sentiments. Even so, he delayed, pressing a hand to the door that separated Noctis and him. This was nothing, he repeated to himself. The fragile new state of their relationship might have been ruptured by the circumstances, but Ignis must not forget the strong base on which it was built. After all, it had not really changed anything, had it not? Being allowed Noctis’ kisses had not changed the ways he cared for Noctis, and Noctis had not had to treat him differently since they’d become more than Prince and retainer. Friendship, companionship and attraction, all the pieces were still there. They both still possessed enough feelings for each other to start over again, even if they would have to relearn their intimacies. It was no cause for despair. 

The world needed looking after. Ifrit was still needed, as was the rest of the Astrals, as was the Crystal, no matter how little help they were, and how much pain and suffering they seemed to bring. Ignis had shied from playing his part long enough, and it had hurt both himself and Noctis. No more hiding, now. One day, perhaps, he could spend his days next to Noctis in peace and normalcy, forgetting about the power he wielded altogether. But it was not this day. He still had much to do. 

He pulled away from Noctis’ door, saying no goodbyes. This was yet another ordeal that Noctis had to face for himself, and grow. And Ignis had his own duties to attend to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! It's been a while, and we're back with more slow burn for you. (does it count as slow burn when the OTP has already kissed?)  
> Monzy's artwork this time is absolutely stunning and we both enjoyed working on this chapter greatly and I hope you will too!   
> I'm going to get back to updating this regularly now! We're only getting to the good stuffs.  
> As always, shoot us a comment. It'll make our day!


	15. 14. lunafreya

Long ago, when they had met as children, Noctis had asked Lunafreya to visit his country. She remembered being wistful at his invitation, as she tried to visualize the sceneries he relayed, and then to picture herself in them. She remembered also being a little amused as Noctis, stuck on some concern that he had not dared to describe to her, had kept stressing on the quality of the air in Lucis, insisting that it was not ‘dirty’. 

Years later, she was finally taking him up on his offer, though the circumstances of the visit weren’t exactly what she had had in mind. 

She sure wouldn’t have been able to imagine the wedding gown in her luggage. The Empire had been prepared enough to offer even this, and Luna wasn’t sure if she should laugh or scream at the attention. The terms of the Empire’s peace, the condition of a union, seemed so… medieval. Luna could guess the purpose of this whole charade – a grand and symbolic ceremony to lure all the leaders of the Nifflheim opposition to the same place. With this ploy they were also making certain that the two most dangerous icons, the Chosen King and the Oracle, had no excuse to be absent. 

It made sense, strategically, yes… But using marriage as a device? It was sloppy, lazy, and insulting. 

It just showed what they took Lunafreya for. A decorative chess piece with a convenient gender, to dispose of as they wished. They thought her so dumb they didn’t even bother to hide this slight from her, or perhaps they thought her too dumb to take offense. Lunafreya saw only two ways this could end. One was their death, the eradication of Nifflheim’s opposing force forever. The second was a charade, and Luna knew what her place would be, too; a puppet Queen to match her puppet King. A harmless woman of faith, commanding the people’s love, so she could placate them if ever there should be unrest. And then she would bear an heir, and thus perpetuate the ecosystem that the Empire would put down on the continent to support their power, forever. 

Luna wasn’t enthusiastic at the prospect at becoming one of the martyrs, but she’d rather die in the scheme than live to become part of it. 

She should be in rage – and maybe she was, just a bit. But Luna was looking at everything with relative calm and detachment. She had the advantage of insider’s knowledge after all. Aranea had brought the news to her, under the cover of the night, days before it was even revealed to King Regis. She’d had several days to think things through. Play along, was Aranea and Gentiana’s advice both, and Luna agreed with them. She had already had her entire life to practice her acting skills, and they were more important now than ever. She must act the part of the frail, holy, sheltered Oracle, the naïve, harmless, simpering Oracle – walking along in her white dress, with her head down, all while keeping an eye out for the scheme that Nifflheim was about to unleash upon them.

Through the window of her transport – a Magitek engine, courtesy of the Empire – Luna could see rows of engines conveying the Emperor’s toy soldiers to the supposed peace treaty. Aranea had told him Iedolas had made Ravus a High Commander just so he could bring him along – what for? To gloat? To torment Lunafreya? To torment Ravus, put him in his place, by dangling in front of him the freedom he desperately wanted but couldn’t have? She didn’t know. She was slightly miffed that she was probably doing as Iedolas wanted, but she couldn’t help but look at the engines and wondered which of them held her brother. 

Gentiana had been nowhere to be found, same as Umbra and Pryna, days before Luna even left. And now Aranea couldn’t get close to her either. The only constant pieces of her life, few as they were, were falling even further from her. In this moment, Luna’s only comfort was that soon she would see Noctis. 

Dear Noctis, this was not how she had wanted to see him again. He who had convinced her that she was more than the Oracle, more than the symbol the Empire meant to make of her – What would he think about this union? How did he take the news? Did he understand the implications, and what preparations had he made? In the last letters they’d exchanged, he had wrote – in short sentences that carried the sound of laughter – about someone who was always by his side, someone he was fond of. Did this news turn his heart bitter? Was he, in some way, angry at her? 

No, he wouldn’t. He was too good, enough that he would stop himself from even thinking that. But there would be a moment when that couldn’t be helped. Luna knew. She was angry at him for a bit, too. 

If she could, Luna would’ve reached out to him, tried to warn him. But with Umbra gone, and considering the distance the message would have to travel with the countless Empire spies to intercept it, her hands were tied. She could only hope she got a few private moments with him before everything started, so they might discuss how they could face this thing together. 

The engine made a neat landing outside the city. The escort who picked her up was Lucian, the man driving the car wearing the uniform of the Kingsglaives. It was an improvement, but they were so closely flanked by the Empire fleet that they could not even forget for one moment their presence. The way to the Citadel took her through the heart of Insomnia, and though she should really be acting in a way that befit the Oracle, Luna still couldn’t help but hold her face as close as she dared to the glass and stare. She’d traveled to heal people, and had been in Lucis before, but the hospitals and camps for the Scourge-touched were always far from the city proper. She had never had the chance to see the city center of Insomnia in its splendor, and now she finally did. 

The city’s sleek, black and shiny glass buildings were so different from the soft white curves of her Tenebraen edifices. The streets were closed off for the political convoy, but Luna tried her best to read the signs and look into the shops as they whizzed past, eyeing up the subway stations and memorial buildings as if they were holy sites. As she watched she tried to imagine Noctis in these settings. She was jealous, of course, of his safety, the luxury of having even an approximation of normal life. She used to scour his letters relentlessly for hints of daily life at his public school, looking for confirmation for what she read in fiction and saw on TV. She used to daydream about wearing a uniform and going to school, joining a club and staying after hours for clean-up duties – instead of doing homework given to her by her personal Empire-sanctioned tutors. She still lived in her home, true, but the Empire had stripped it of all that mattered. As she looked at an arcade that she figured was much like the one Noctis frequented, as she read the menu outside an ice cream shop looking for the crazy flavors Noctis had described to her, she felt deep inside her heart how different their lives were, and yet, how they were the same.

Lost in thoughts, Luna found they had arrived much sooner that she’d imagined. When she focused on the scenery again, she realized the road was at an end and before her loomed the heights of the Citadel. Immediately she acted the Oracle again – pulling back from the glass, straightening her back, smoothing out her dress, giving a regal nod when the Glaive opened the car door for her. She wasn’t fooling him, though. When she was putting on her airs, he gave her a formal bow and a wink that spoke many words, and Lunafreya couldn’t help the way the corner of her lips twitched into a smile in return.

All around her, soldiers snapped to attention. No, not soldiers – she corrected herself. Kingsglaives, in their black and silver uniforms, with their hoods drawn despite the heat from the high sun. Luna knew, from watching many ceremonies on TV, that the royalty of Lucis should stand out from their entourage, despite the fact that all of them wore the same blacks. She had studied how King Regis’ poise and dignity distinguished him from the crowd, his presence parting his entourage the way the Tidemother’s very manifestation parted the ocean. His aura carried through even a TV broadcast, and the brief glimpses she’d had of Noctis confirmed that he was beginning to learn the mastery.

Which was why it was so surprising for her to see Noctis all but slouching near the first row of Glaives, almost blended into the background. When he caught sight of her, he straightened, but it was a beat too late. He moved forward as if he didn’t know the steps of this political dance at all. When he was close enough, Lunafreya was alarmed. He was deadly pale, his lips almost the same pasty white as his face, and his cheeks seemed hollow. His eyes were overly bright, as if in a fever, but when he took her hand it was icy cold in her grasp. 

It took everything she had to stand at his side and not make a comment on his state. As they stood and posed for the journalists, for their pictures to be taken, Luna was glad that they had no speeches to make, allowing her mind to run in overdrive as she analyzed the small visual clues she’d been able to glean. She recalled what a small Noctis had confided in her on how the royal line of Lucis needed to run a little cold, so that they never got sweaty and gross in their black attires, even in direct sunlight. But this was more than ‘running a little cold’. It seemed that all the black in the Citadel was not enough to draw heat to warm him, and he was swaying slightly next to her with the effort to remain on his feet. It seemed to her like only the sense of duty was propping him up, like the last wire that held a puppet. Without that instinct drilled into his blood since the moment he was born, he would have collapsed right there, and nobody would have been able to rouse him.

The official photos were taken, the moment immortalized, and the procession moved on inside the Citadel. Noctis was supposed to lead her to her quarters, where she would room until their wedding – Her heart still thumped at this mention, at this strange combination of words. But as soon as they got into the cover of the Citadel, Luna sprang to action. She didn’t know this palace, but she had lived in a palace like it all her life, so the curve of a corridor was enough to clue her in on the presence of a possible alcove. She found it where she’d expected it and pulled Noctis there, squeezing him between two marble walls and holding a finger to his lips for silence. When she was sure that nobody had followed them yet, which allowed them a few minutes of privacy, she pulled back slightly to look into his eyes. “Noctis, what’s the matter?” She asked, and had to remind herself to keep her voice down. “You look fit to fall over, and your hands are icy. Are you ill?”

“Just a cold, Luna,” he said, in that idiotic don’t-worry-about-me bravery that made her want to scream. He was almost still in her grasp, listless, and it didn’t match with the image of the boy she remembered, hurting from a fresh injury but still itching to move. “This business—it just bummed me out a bit. A lot. Sorry, I didn’t even muster the enthusiasm to see you again, after all these years.” Now his grip tightened around her hands, and she was glad for even this small sign of interest. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” she sighed. In the small space they occupied, it seemed natural to lean her forehead forwards and rested it against Noctis’. “This isn’t how I’ve pictured seeing you again, seeing your home for the first time.” She pulled away, just so that she could touch a hand to his cheek. It would be easy to reach out with the golden light to find the source of his ailment, but she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to invade his privacy in even that small way, no matter how well-meaning it was. “I’ve figured this business would distress you, but not as much as this. If I’d known, I would’ve tried harder to reach you—But Umbra, he just disappeared. Pryna, too, and Gentiana.” She looked around, realizing for the first time that Noctis, like her, was unaccompanied. “I’ve heard of your Divine Messenger,” she said. “Where is he?”

Without even knowing it, Luna had cut to the heart of the issue. She felt Noctis stiffen against her, and his composure, what little of it, completely crumbled. He pulled away from her as if to wedge himself as closely as possible into the corner. His hand raked through his hair, making a mess of it, and he made an abortive motion as if he wanted to cover his ears, but didn’t. It almost frightened her, this misery. It seemed to make him unlike himself in a way that even a brutal injury that had crippled his body, hadn’t managed to. “It’s all my fault,” he whispered, and when he looked at her his eyes were wet with tears. “I messed up. I think I messed up, Luna. I don’t know where he went. He just—he just disappeared.”

Luna’s heart sank. For a second, she still didn’t understand. Divine Messengers came and went, as she was sure Noctis should be aware. And Noctis was hardly as isolated as Luna was – he had his father and his friends, still. The absence of a Divine Messenger shouldn’t be so devastating. And then she recalled the scant words he had managed to get through to her, on the wonderful friend from childhood who had suddenly reappeared in his life, how well this friend had taken care of him, and how – this last bit in a tiny, small script that nearly blended into the cursive embellishment at the edge of the notebook – how he’d looked at this friend’s lips and wanted to know what they tasted like, and asking if she’d ever felt the same – and she _knew_. 

“Noctis,” she said, numb with the grief that seemed to trickle from Noctis to her. There was no room in her for judgment, not in the face of his distress. She could hardly comment on how unwise it was to fall in love with a Divine Messenger, how unlikely for that love to bear fruit – any kind of fruit except heartbreaks. No, she needed to say none of that. She was sure he knew all this already, and more. He had had time in his misery to conjure up worst case scenarios more tragic than what she could tell him. He grieved, as if he’d already lost his heart.

There was only so much Luna could watch without acting. “Oh, Noctis.” She pulled him to her, letting his head rest on her shoulder, her arms cradling him as she finally tried to reach out with the golden light. All the light she had in her wasn’t enough to fill the hollow that blew cold into him, but she gave him enough to blunt the edge of the wound, make it seem a little more bearable. “Noctis, listen to me. This peace treaty will never come to pass, and this marriage is a sham. I’m sure you know this already. I don’t know what calamity will befall us, but I’m sure the Empire will never let us have a truce, and if I know them at all, they wouldn’t even be patient enough to wait until the end of the marriage ceremony. The peace they dangle in front of us will be snatched from us before the terms of the treaty could be fulfilled, just so they still appear on correct moral grounds. Perhaps they mean to shoot me down on the altar, perhaps it would be you.” He drew in a breath at that, and she let him go, but only so she could look in his eyes, as her hands squeezed his shoulders. “Our Divine Messengers must be hard at work, trying to prevent the Empire plot. You must have faith.” 

It was the only thing she had. Faith, in the Gods, but also in the good men and women who would be surrounding the ceremony, watching. Faith, in those who were not present, but she knew were watching over them. Looking at Noctis, a smile played on her lips. “I love you, Noctis. For a few hours, pretend like you want to marry me, won’t you?”  


  


*

They scarcely had any privacy after that. The Empire honor guards quickly found them in their alcove, and while they hardly dragged the two of them out by their hair, the way they were ‘escorted’ to their respective quarters were humiliating enough. Luna stayed awake all night, in her cozy, snug, warm bedroom, nursing the cold dread that grew in her belly. She ended up getting ready for the ceremony at the very break of dawn. In the final act of rebellion against the Empire, she left her wedding gown hanging on the mannequin they had provided. Claiming unease, she locked her door until it was too late, and when she got out her Empire escort had no choice but to let her walk to the altar as she was, clad in the fine regalia of an Oracle and not her bridal veil. 

Noctis lent her his arm, as he led her to the throne room. Luna liked to think that her words had given him courage, because he managed to fake a smile as he walked by her side, and his steps were even and steady. His hands, though, were dry and cold where it rested against her skin. They were nudged in position by the MT, and from there they looked down the treaty table with its documents laid out, over which loomed the King of Lucis and the Emperor of Nifflheim. The light from the dome overhead shone on them, but she still saw in the shadow the form of the Glaives, standing in neat rows, and she had just located the Nifflheim delegation, with Aranea in her Dragoon mail and a tall man in a white uniform that she had just begun to recognize—

And then the glass over their heads shattered, and all Luna could think was how _right_ she had been to wear her little flat boots instead of her high-heeled sandals, no matter how much better they would match her dress. At least, while she wore her sturdy boots in a world that wanted her blood, the broken glass from the dome wouldn’t be able to make her bleed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whowee. I have been waiting for so long to write this chapter (if only because of what's going to happen in the next! ;;;;;)))))) and here it is! I hope you also enjoy Monzy's STUNNING Luna. She deserves so much more.  
> Also boys I have never been more glad that I didn't roll with the fan lore and name Noctis' previous life 'Somnus' hahahahah.  
> It's probably obvious that this fic is canon divergent, but just making sure you know it's non-episode Ardyn compliant. I plotted this whole thing out long ago and I'm not about to change it 40k words in haha.  
> As always I hope you enjoy reading!


	16. 15. noctis

It took Noctis five whole seconds to fully register everything what was happening. Once he did, all he could do was rehearse the phrasing he would use to tell Prompto about it later. It would go something like this: _Like, my ping shot up to 300ms. The lag…  
_

He would blame Ignis for this, totally. Ignis, and the cold hazy fog he’d left Noctis’ mind in.

It felt almost as if another plane of existence had crashed into theirs. One second, it was all perfectly civilized, the King of Lucis and the Emperor of Nifflheim staring at each other solemnly over a piece of parchment, and it seemed like the only weapons they were brandishing were the gold fountain pens they each held in their hands. And then everything exploded in noise and motion. 

A thunderous booming, falling from the sky like a monstrous avalanche, shook the ground they stood on. The noise was so loud it seemed as if it could be responsible for the shattering of the dome all by itself. Because the dome, the skylight that overlooked the throne room letting in the light, caved inward then, shards of glass falling like rain. In the beam of sunlight pouring into the throne room, the falling glass could hardly be distinguished from the sparks of magic. Indeed, the Glaives needed no further signal to spring into action, threading the throne room with wisps of warping magic as they put themselves in front of the MTs. The Emperor’s forces had jerked to life like puppets at their parts in a show. The air sang with chaos: a background ghostly whine of metal blended with muted explosions from far away, the high pitched rending of steel against steel as the Glaives locked blades with the MTs, the strange hum of the Magitek soldiers as they moved, the eerie not quite creaking, not quite clicking of the joints of their armors. 

Then the daylight was cut off. The room suddenly darkened as an enormous shadow loomed over the Citadel. Noctis’ teeth _itched_ as he registered the size of it, his mind trying to conjure up images of the monsters the Empire might have hatched and brought along. Or perhaps it was one of their metal-plated dreadnoughts – the biggest one, judging by the gloating expression Aldecapt was wearing. As the Emperor started laughing Noctis felt anger spread though him – whatever it was, Iedolas was certain that it would secure his victory.

“How does it feel to lose your precious Wall?” Aldecapt screamed at Regis to be heard over the sound of fighting. In the distance, another muted explosion, and then came the whistle of something tearing through the air so fast it made the hair at the back of Noctis’ neck stand up. He watched as his Dad’s face paled. He wanted to jump on Regis, covering him with his own body – but knew it was pointless. Only the King could brace against the impact that would surely crush the Wall from the inside, but he was not strong enough to stop it from tearing apart all the pieces of himself that he had given up to keep Insomnia safe. Whatever monster that was about to strike, it would scatter all of Regis’ valor and steadfastness, everything that made him a King and father, every piece of him at the wind’s mercy, falling like ashes, like shards of the glass dome that had once stood over them all—

The impact never came.

Iedolas’ grin took on an impatient, confused edge. He backed away, trying to look up the empty dome. He looked like a giant wrinkly child, Noctis thought – two seconds away from stamping his feet and shouting up to demand what was taking so long. But whatever Iedolas saw in the sky, Noctis knew he hadn’t expected it. The Emperor’s face suddenly drained of all color, and a split second later a missile whistled through the air and crashed into the floor, inches away from where the Emperor had stood, before a MT had leaped up and pushed him out of the way.

It seemed everyone in the room paused for a second, watching mesmerized. The projectile was not a missile but only the shell of one, lying buried on the marble floor, cold dust rising from blackened metal. It looked misshapen, not quite crushed, but as if something had sucked it hollow of the destruction it carried. It was what was supposed to crash against the Wall, destroying it, only it had ended up here, broken and useless, and it had almost taken the life of the Emperor. _Only a little closer_ , Noctis found himself thinking, and shook that thought away. It was so easy to wish for a death in these circumstances, but it would be pointless, wouldn’t it? This Emperor would only be replaced by another Emperor, and this stain on Noctis’ soul wouldn’t have made any change. At all. 

And then intuition crashed into Noctis, as if it was tired of him standing there philosophizing about the worth of life and death while _clearly_ there were more important things to be hung up over. In one moment of perfect clairvoyance, Noctis knew what – or rather _who_ it was, standing over the throne room and blotting out the sun. The way his blood sang in his veins, and the way warmth burst through him like a great blooming flowers, were enough to give him a clue. The sunlight felt solid upon his skin, as if after days of being consumed by cold, he was now literally absorbing the warmth to make up for it. Dizzy with the sensation that was pulling at him to _move, damn it, move_ , he told Luna, “Get down!” as he summoned his blade from the Armiger. 

The look she gave him said that she would not, in fact, get down, and Noctis just then realized how stupid his suggestion was. Firstly, because there was nothing to get down under, secondly, he could hardly think that she was really what the Empire wanted her to be, a harmless Oracle. Well, he could be excused for saying a few stupid things, because there was some cosmic force urging him to move and he could hardly _think_. He only had the time to grin and shrug apologetically at her. Then the two of them parted way, sling-shooting in two different directions. He tracked her out of the corner of his eye to make sure she was safe, and saw Luna bounding towards her Trident, picking it up from where it leaned against the wall. With the handle in her grip, the points soon found their way up the jaw of a MT soldier who had thrown itself at her, and she lifted it out of her way like a farmer lifting a bale of hay, flicking it away before she went at a full sprint towards the Empire delegation.

That was all the attention Noctis could spare. He had no time to wonder why she was heading the wrong way, and in any case, Luna clearly knew better than him what she was doing. He turned his attention to his Dad next, and none too soon. The MTs were closing in on the King, who was doubled over, his face a grimace of effort. With a shout of defiance, Noctis covered the room in a net of lightning, tying down the MTs until he could strike down one, two, three of them, right in their mechanical hearts. His way cleared, he leapt towards Dad, rallying around him enough Glaives to close ranks around the King. When Clarus returned, his eyes cold but wild after a desperate grapple against an axeman, Noctis gladly handed Dad’s safety to him before forging his way towards the dome so that he could finally _look_. 

All the time in the world would not have been enough to prepare for the glory of what he had been about to see. 

There was a Magitek dreadnought hovering in the air about them, yes, and it was indeed _the biggest one ever_. As Noctis watched, there was again the muffled, pressurized explosion, and then the whistle as the engine shot another missile – one last, messy, desperate attempt at attacking the Wall. One second, the missile was drawing a shooting-star-bright path in the sky. The next, it crunched with an ugly sound of metal squishing – as if an invisible hand had seized it and squeezed it like a sponge, draining to the last drop of its brilliance. It plunged to the ground, crashing into what must be, in the courtyard, a matching crater with the one that had just formed inside the throne room minutes ago.

Noctis barely shook himself enough to bring up his sword up and parry the blade of an axe, coming down at him with a vengeance. He screamed at the MT in absolute fury – not bothering to act princely, just an angry hissing cat distracted from its current, more interesting prey. The reminder of the hostile presence made Noctis send another glance over his shoulder to make sure everyone was safe, and he was quickly reassured: Clarus was covering Dad like a puffing mother hen, Luna looked safe and sound as she clung to the sour-faced man in white who suddenly didn’t look so sour-faced anymore, and Gladio and Prompto were definitely alright because they were already running towards him yelling ‘what the hell are you doing?!’. Noctis understood where they were coming from. It looked very like Noctis was the only one who wasn’t guarded, safe and secure, but what he was doing was important. His attention turned back to the object of his current obsession then, and he threw his sword, letting the warp carry him to a higher perch so he could see exactly what it was that had saved them. 

At first, he’d thought he was looking at an explosion. What he saw was too enormous for his mind to grasp and comprehend. But little by little, he took it in, and in the end his mind too was exploding with comprehension.

It was glorious.

The figure stood nearly as tall as the Citadel. His appearance could only be summed up in one word: primal. The Astrals were usually depicted in fine armors or ornate robes, but this one – for there was no doubt that was what he was, an Astral – was clad only in fur and gold. Horns formed a crown around his head, a dark halo that imprinted onto the searing light of his infernal aura. As Noctis watched, the figure reached out a hand – fingertips tipped with sharp claws – towards the Magitek engine. It crumbled like a soft drink can, and Noctis understood what was happening to it. All the energy, the fire of its nuclear reaction at its furnace, had rushed outside, unable to resist the call of the Astral. The empty metal shell crumbled in on itself, a pitiful material unable to withstand the touch of real star-fire. The mother dreadnought plunged to the ground, spewing what little parachutes and hover-crafts as it had time to save. The impact sent another crash resonating in the air, but even that was not loud enough to cover the sound of hissing and exploding – more missiles being sent out by the remaining fleet. None of them were as big as the mother dreadnought, but there were walls upon walls of them, firing as once, and the figure turned to face them. 

As the Astral flared up the wall of fire around him, forming a barrier that melted the missiles before they could impact, the light covering his very being became less blinding, and Noctis could look upon his face without burning his retinas. He had not needed to see to believe, but it was nicer to have confirmation. As he held his breath and his heart beat a loud rhythm in his chest, he searched the face and saw green eyes, and beauty marks at the exact same spots he’d brushed his fingers against many times, and a surprisingly soft mouth whose every curve he’d learned from kissing. 

When he said aloud, “Ifrit,” the sound of the name that resonated in his head was, _Ignis._

Noctis didn’t think. Well, he probably did think a little, because he had enough sense to wait until Ifrit had finished dealing with the fleet’s attack to make his move. Just like how he always knew to wait just long enough for Ignis to put down a hot frying pan or a sharp knife before he attached himself to the man’s back and make an absolute nuisance of himself, Noctis waited for the air to clear before he threw his sword. His arm ached, and just now he noticed the blood running down his hand – a stray bullet, a lucky hit, probably. But it didn’t stop him from warping higher and higher, moving from crumbling walls to precarious ledges, until he was in the air and no longer had any footholds, and only magic was propelling him forward, a stairway of crystalline lights. 

“Ifrit!” He called again, and this time the figure of the Astral did turn. Noctis was close enough to see every feature of that face now and there was no mistaking who they belonged to. Ifrit was Ignis, and if the pale hair and the beauty marks weren’t telltale enough, if the crooked canine tooth wasn’t enough a mark of identification, then his expression of startled concern and worry, bordering on panic, upon seeing Noctis so close to him, was enough to lay bare his very nature. 

Instinctively, Noctis knew it would be hot – and not the sexy kind either. A seemingly innocent question that he’d heard in his childhood echoed in his mind now, _Don’t you think it’d get rather hot, that close to the Infernian?_ His body knew how to react before his mind even needed to. He conjured up a sphere of shield before he could be burned and Ifrit could blame himself – and he watched with satisfaction as Ifrit held out both hands and caught Noctis neatly between the cupped palms. 

“What do you think you are doing?” The sentence rang out in the language of the Gods, which made it all the more absurd. Noctis started laughing even as he sat up in Ifrit’s hand, letting a literal Astral nag at him for being reckless. “Couldn’t you have waited five seconds?”

Noctis laughed harder. He would be a little worried at his own sanity, if he hadn’t known for sure that this giddiness came from the warmth that had now filled his soul. He took hold of Ifrit’s thumb and pulled himself upright. The flames were receding, sucked back inside Ifrit’s core, and Noctis could even dismiss his shield without worrying about getting burned. To see those hands, capable of so much power and destruction, now cradling his fragile mortal form with infinite tenderness, was humbling. The care with which Ifrit held him was melting Noctis’ heart, spreading this feeling like melted caramel that made him forget the rest of the world for a second in his own bliss. 

“I’ve waited long enough,” he retorted. “You up and went and didn’t tell me a word. And it seems like you’ve become the patient one, and I the impatient one, since I last saw you.” He didn’t mean when he last saw Ignis, of course. He meant the last time he’d seen Ifrit and known him for all that he was, all those lifetimes ago. Noctis felt bold even as he said it, irreverent as he claimed the memory for himself. Who was he to invoke a life that he hadn’t even lived? He was only twenty years old and he was calling himself the object of a love that had been around for as long as the stars. 

“Well, you took your time being reborn,” Ifrit returned, with only a hint of petulance. He looked slightly lost, himself, as if he wasn’t quite sure himself this was how he was supposed to speak to Noctis. As if he was still uncertain that the secret of their previous life was out. “Try waiting for a millennium, it’s a good exercise in patience.” 

If Noctis wasn’t completely insane, there was something like embarrassment in his look. As if now that Noctis had seen him as Ifrit, Noctis would want him less. Noctis could have none of it, of course. Holding onto Ifrit’s finger for balance, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to his cheek. “I’m sorry,” he said, and when his eyes met Ifrit’s he knew his own eyes were blazing with the pink light that always seemed to set him ablaze when he was in the proximity of unshielded divinity. It must have taken Ignis a lot of effort to camouflage his presence, especially since he had been spending so much time with a literal human Gods detector. “I am here, Ignis. I know you. I’ve always known you.”

  
[ ](https://monzy-atelier.tumblr.com/post/183569115160/ifritignis-and-noctis-reunited-once-more)

“Stop that,” Ifrit grumbled. Noctis laughed, because he was sure that the little peck was nothing to be bashful about, compared to what Ignis and him had gotten up to in idle moments around the apartment. Still, it must be distracting – they were still in a crisis, even if it felt dull and unimportant compared to this star-bright moment. Moreover Ifrit was as tall as the Citadel, and Noctis would forgive him if the prospect of the entire city of Insomnia saw them kissing made him a little self-conscious. “I need you to get back to safety, so that I can get back to work.”

“I don’t want to leave your side!” Noctis protested. He was maybe a bit frantic, recalling the hollow inside of him when Ignis had been away. He did not want to feel that way ever again. “Just put me down on the roof. Nobody can reach me there, and I can be closer to you.”

“Noctis—“ Ifrit sighed. There was annoyance on his face, but Noctis saw that his irritation was aimed at the wound on Noctis’ arm, instead of at Noctis himself. It occurred to him that, even at the full display of his power, Ifrit still hadn’t offered to heal his wound. He just… couldn’t. It wasn’t part of his powers, and Noctis didn’t blame him in the slightest. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’d bleed out.” He looked away for a second, distracted by a presence he felt in the air, and soon enough Noctis could hear what had dismayed Ifrit so. 

The air was streaked through with screeches – the tortured cries of daemons. 

There was an immeasurable sense of oppression in the air, as if the atmosphere itself was compressed by the Scourge that polluted it. Noctis shivered. He remembered this feeling. He had been young when he’d first felt it, but it had made sure he could not forget it. It was just like when the Marilith had torn into his existence, except whatever this was, it was ten times, no, hundreds of times worse. Even Ifrit’s eyebrows drew together in concern, as he tilted his head as if trying to get a feel of the daemon that was closing in on him. 

“Daemons,” Ifrit muttered, confirming Noctis’ dread. Somehow, Noctis thought he sounded a little relieved, too. “He’s figured out how to bring them out in broad daylight.” By now Noctis could hear the scream of civilians and soldiers both, stopping short his question of who this ‘he’ might be. Imps exploded out of thin air; Red and Iron Giants carved their paths through the city with their giant swords. Imprinted on the skyline were the shapes of yet more Magitek engines, and over the darkening horizon something even larger, wreathed in shining hungry red eyes, a monster that Noctis had yet to name. The very pressing presence of the enemies seemed to make up Ifrit’s mind, and his green eyes were intent as they held Noctis’. This close up, Noctis could count the flecks of gold in the green. Like veins of gold in the earth, he found himself thinking absently, and realizing at the same time that he was composing moony poetry over someone’s _eyes (emerald orbs_ , his mind supplied, in a fit of hysteria) like a love-struck fool. Which, he was, admittedly, no shame there. 

“You need to direct your troop, protect your friends and family. They need you more than I do.” Ifrit’s words rang out in solemn finality, breaking Noctis from his trance. And then, as he bent a knee to lower Noctis to the ground, he added, a teasing light dancing in his divine eyes. “And I don’t want you to accidentally catch on fire.”

“I won’t!” Noctis protested, indignantly. He saw the sense in Ifrit’s words, though he still held on just for long enough that he could press another kiss to his cheek. When he was pulling back, his mind was racing with plans. Ifrit was right. Dad had to focus on keeping the Wall up, if only to hinder the entrance of the daemons horde, buying more time for the people of Insomnia to get to safety. He was in good hands, with Clarus directing the Glaives to defend him. And so, it fell to Noctis to lead, as he had been trained to do. 

Hadn’t he always wanted for a chance to bring the fire to the Empire? Well, now he could. He couldn’t do that if he was to cling to Ifrit like a leech, or if he bled out before he could even stage a proper resistance. “Alright,” he said finally, pouting for good effect, as he climbed off of Ifrit’s hand and stood looking at him from the pock-marked Citadel courtyard. “You pick the skies clear of the MT engines, and I’ll direct the ground force – giving you a little room to maneuver.” He’d seen how Ifrit struggled, fighting with only his bare hands while Noctis just knew he had glaives of his own, having to hold his fire in check lest he hurt the people scattering and screaming under his feet. “And after this. I’ll see you.”

It wasn’t a question. It was an order, and a promise, joy and longing and hope rolled up in three meager words. Ifrit’s face softened, and despite the horns and flames Noctis saw the gentleness of Ignis’ expression. “You will. You won’t have to wait.” 

Ifrit’s great head raised, and Noctis turned to see Gladio and Prompto approach. They had their weapons ready, their expressions intent, and Noctis felt a moment of giddiness knowing they would absolutely start a fight with a God if it meant keeping him safe. Ifrit was satisfied with what he saw too, because he raised his hand to draw a shining rune in the air, and the shape became fire and it came to envelop Noctis and Gladio and Prompto in a warm embrace. “My Mark,” he explained, his voice in human language now, for the benefit of Prompto and Gladio who were watching, wary and wild-eyed. “A burst of strength, and protection from fire.” His eyes flicked to Noctis once more, and Noctis read a thousand words of love and a thousand caresses in that one look. “Go with my love. Keep your people safe, and I’ll make the sky rain fire for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to god i started this fic just because i wanted to write the scene in this chapter.  
> 50k words after I had to struggle to get this chapter out  
> do you even feel it
> 
> anyway thank you for still being here! I hope you enjoy the fic and this FANTABULOUS ART that monzy made for us!!!


	17. 16. ifrit

With his head practically in the clouds and his feet in the ashes, the thought – one of many – crossed his mind with the silver streak of a shooting star.

_What does it feel like?_

It was a sure sign that he’d spent too long outside of this form. Overwhelmed by all he was feeling and experiencing, he wasn’t quite sure where that question had come from. Was it a memory of a conversation he’d had with the King of Stars? Was it a question that Noctis had asked? But no, it could not be, Noctis had not seen him like this before. Was it, then, a question from Noctis in the future? Perhaps. 

But it didn’t really matter, did it? No matter who asked, Ifrit’s answer would still be the same. 

_Vast, dear heart. It feels vast._

Ifrit knew where he was physically, and he held his ground on his two bare feet. He was aware of every dreadnought he snuffed out, every creature he sent to their death. That meant each man on the Nifflheim crafts, as well as each civilian he was too slow or too far away to save. That meant each bird that’d had their wings scorched as he extended his flames, and even the MTs, who were less mechanical than the Empire would have the rest of the world know. In his awareness, the engine carrying the Emperor of Nifflheim might as well be painted with a red mark, and he made a reach for it as it fled the open battlefield – but didn’t quite make it. Several hovercrafts, coming out of nowhere, pelted at his face, making him flinch just for a fraction of a second – and the Imperial engine had already dropped away from view. 

Ifrit didn’t have time to chase it, as the daemons were practically biting at his ankles. Those creatures, when they died, vanished in a puff of acrid smoke, of sorrows and unfulfilled potentials. They were not so different from people in that way, but the rancor that they carried was so potent and toxic humans could not possibly have cultivated the like in their living hearts. Ifrit knew it wasn’t the daemons’ fault. The gravest crime ever committed – the utter _waste_ of their life – had had time to steep in a state of life and not-quite life, to fester, further spurred on by the Scourge and the dark. 

Ifrit didn’t spend too long over those musings, however. He did as he had told Noctis. He was _working_ , methodically dispatching MT engines that got in too close, knocking them out of the sky before they could aim their system and fire. There were walkers, too, and he made sure as many as possible wouldn’t make it to the ground. It wasn’t hard to regain the feel of this body, the luxury of having his limbs moving at a simple thought, the power of summoning total destruction by fire with a look. Ifrit would lie if he said he wasn’t relishing in the carnage, at least a little.

[ ](https://monzy-atelier.tumblr.com/post/184258242350/ifritignis-here-to-remind-us-all-whos-boss)

At the same time, he was everywhere on the battlefield. He was in the little fires devouring the deformed carcass of the armored vehicle that had carted dignitaries to this place just earlier this morning. He was looking in with many glass eyes as Noctis finally turned from him and Gladio and Prompto ran up to pelt him with questions. (“What the hell was that?” “Did he say _love_?”)

The fires chuckled in amusement, even as Ifrit heard the crack of the obelisk in the middle of the Citadel courtyard and reacted to it. Out flung his arm just in time to stop the fall of the marble pillar. None of the civilians around him could tell that, as he was gently setting the pillar on the ground where it could cause no more damages, he was extending his awareness through the embers of the tablecloth in the throne room. He could see Noctis rushing to his father, checking him everywhere for injuries. He wasn’t quite present enough to make out the words of their whispered conversation, but he was able to witness Noctis take hold of his father’s sword, raising it over his head, his rallying words echoed by the surviving Glaives who already were spilling from the room to where they were needed. 

The flash light of a camera going off distracted him from the vision just as he felt pride and love swell in his chest. Ifrit wrinkled his nose in annoyance. Humans and their contraption and their urge to record every major event they lived through before they could even think about saving their own skins. Even if he knew the halo of fire surrounding him would protect him from being recorded on film or even on digital cameras, he could hardly encourage that kind of behavior. So he shushed the nosy reporters and shooed them away. In his mind’s eyes he was seeing, from the wreck of the yard, how Lunafreya gave her brother the decorative High Commander, a pat on his arm, as if to tell him to stay right there, before rushing over to Noctis, golden light flying from her fingertips to knit itself around his arm, pulling the broken flesh back together. 

There were fires higher, too. Fires of tall buildings, looking down at the ruins of the day, the ruins of many lives. But the high vantage points allowed Ifrit to see a pattern to the Glaives and Crownsguard’s defense, where there had only been the desperation of survival before. Were they hearing Noctis’ voice in their earpiece, leading them to their stations? It must be so, because only a few lucky ones were close enough to hear Noctis’ orders in person. The strategy was easy to grasp when priorities were this straightforward: clear the MT from the city center, lead civilians to shelters, block the daemons in their advance, keeping one gate clear to evacuate survivors. 

As Ifrit assessed the situation, a stray MT engine swooped too close, and he almost squashed it until he realized its movements were not the same as the engines piloted by the Empire. He was glad he’d stayed his hand, before from the metal box, Aranea Highwind shot out, her spear a blur in the sky, her landing scattering daemons and Glaives alike. “What are you staring at?” She shouted, completely oblivious to the drama of her entrance – or just ignoring it, which was more likely in Ifrit’s opinion – as the rogue MT engine made landing and mercenaries streamed out from behind her. “Can’t you dorks see I’m here to help?”

So many little lives. So much effort. There was only one way Ifrit could act if he was to avert the wheels of fortune, not just for Noctis, but for all of them. Etro have mercy on his heart-flame – he _did_ care about the humans, after all, as ugly and annoying and as full of darkness as they were. As he ran – unchained, unrestrained, _free_ at last from his fear of the fates – towards the enemy he would face on Noctis’ behalf, he knew he was well past the line of “no meddling” now, and he did not care. 

If he wanted to justify himself, he was sure he could come up with clever arguments that even Bahamut, in all his righteousness, would have a hard time retorting. It seemed that even now he was still that youngest sibling that couldn’t resist the urge to run circles around his elders. The Empire’s ploy was an affront, surely, to the rule of the Gods – and what kind of Astrals would they be if they allowed such blasphemy? What subjects would they still have, after allowing them to be trodden by the Empire’s treachery, the mere injustice of it? 

Grand words, but even as Ifrit thought of that speech it felt empty to him, like the joke he meant it to be. The only things he really cared about were these two facts: First and foremost, that he loved Noctis, and second, he could not stand idly by as his love was being threatened, not anymore.

One of his fears, at first, had been to become Noctis’ crutch, and that his interventions would prevent Noctis from learning and growing on his own. But it seemed so far that the fates insisted that Noctis learned his lessons from pain. Ifrit had seen how short a mortal life could be, and there was only so much he could take before even he had to say, enough was enough. Already Noctis had grown plenty. Watching the young Prince cutting a swath through daemons and Magitech soldiers alike, offering courage and rallying his soldiers, who would dare say his poise and competence, his skills and confidence, were only earned through the favor of the Gods?

Ifrit had a part to play on this battlefield, and he moved towards it relentlessly. He would be ashamed to admit, but part of the reason why he was so brave was that he was relieved. _Not the Omega_ , he thought. _That man had not managed to wake the Omega_. And so, the monster facing them down from a distance wasn’t all that menacing anymore. It was Diamond, an armor filled with legions of daemons moving as one. Their red eyes, glowing with malice from the deepest and darkest hatred, burned with the depth of their suffering. Another of the Empire’s wretched creations, meant to bring ruins to the Crown City. Ifrit intended to meet it before it went past the outskirts.

There was a charged quality to the air as he got closer. It was as if a feather had tipped the scale, and all of a sudden Ifrit realized the red glows on the Diamond weren’t merely for show. They were focusing, drawing on the power of the wretched carcasses, and now they’d gathered enough. The beam, when it came, was faster than a thought. It would’ve hit Ifrit square on the face, if the basest of instincts hadn’t made him avert his eyes, and it hit his crown of horns instead. 

It was jarring. Ifrit felt the impact in his teeth. Behind him, a crash – a fragment of a horn knocked loose, embedding itself into the flag stone like a hot knife in butter. He was only a little sore, but there wasn’t denying the power of a thing that chipped the horn of an Astral. This thing might be no Omega, but it was still a challenge. It still might kill him yet.

Was he scared? Was he worried out of his mind? Yes, those were all too human feelings that he’d learned – and couldn’t unlearn – from his time with Noctis. Was he grinning, though, as he tore open a portal of fire from the blue sky, from which fell his daggers? Was his heart-flame pumped quick and roaring and was his mind filled with the roars of a thousand falling stars? 

Yes. Yes they were. 

He wouldn’t mind to admit that he had lost some of his edge. At the beginning, when the world had still been reigned by chaos, survival was the only main concern. There was a pure joy to it, Ifrit supposed – a feral sort of euphoria as he waged wars against enemies wielding powers as vast as his own and prevailed. The experience had been incandescent but empty, like the death of a star. 

Now, after millennia of being one of the six most powerful creatures in all of Eos, and especially after spending decades in a soft human shell learning to behave in a soft human way, he no longer knew how to be heartless. Not even against this abomination. He was aware of the souls in each limb he cut off, his ears no longer deaf to the screams of souls who were blind to the way to the gates of the Garden of Etro. But at the same time, he had gained strength, in knowing it was either it or him, either the Empire or Noctis.

Ifrit had always been the nimblest of his siblings, the only one to tease the wrath of Leviathan and tempt the might of Bahamut, and still dance away from their lashing out unscathed. But years of practice with humans, in human form, had given him mastery over his body. Discipline had completed his natural talent and ferocity, and sooner rather than later Ifrit realized that no, he had not grown soft and complacent in peace. He had gained strength, only of a different kind.

Would his brothers and sisters believe him if he told them there was strength in having heart?

As he fought the Diamond Weapon, all the vastness of his being was pulling back to a point. No longer was he spread all over the battlefield, looking down over Insomnia. Noctis was no longer in his thoughts, but in his heart – a breath of rich air pumping into the forge of his heart-flame, making it shine bright. Ifrit existed now only at the very edge of the blades of his spelled daggers – weapons tempered from the core of dying stars, frozen in time so they forever shone at their brightest and hottest. They were as part of his body, teeth that rend the armor of the Diamond. He lived in the tip of his dagger, as he dug it in ever deeper into the metal, opening the way to blow a scorching breath into the darkness sheltered underneath. It didn’t matter if, the creature, in its death throes, thrashed and jumped so that Ifrit’s daggers were knocked from his hands. He then focused on the tips of his claws – a singled minded determination as he ripped off layers and layers of armors, shouting in rage as his golden blood blended with the daemons’ ichor, staining the land over which they battled. 

The blood, slick as it could be, didn’t prevent him from seizing his dagger again and rending the Diamond Weapon all the way down from top to bottom. The scream cleaved its way into his heart, but Ifrit held firm. The fire from his blades cauterized the poisonous wound, eating away at the Scourge-infected flesh so it might not spread further. He didn’t stop until the Diamond Weapon was two separate halves, each of them hissing and spitting noxious blood of their own. As Ifrit stood and flicked the last of his molten gold-magma blood over it, both halves of the Diamond burst into flames. 

Incinerated at the hand of the Pyreburner, anointed with blood of a God, at least these poor souls turned daemons could be sure to be properly laid to rest. 

Suddenly, the horizon was cleared. The form of Ifrit no longer loomed like a mountain covering up the view. People from all the way in the city could see the Diamond’s pyre burn high, tongues of flames licking into the sky, high enough that MT engines had to maneuver to stay out of their way as they fled past the outskirt of the city. There were straggling by one by one where just hours ago there had been enough of them to blot out the sun. They trailed grey smoke and red embers behind them like a banner of defeat as they left the Crown City to return to their empire.

In the dying light of the setting sun, the Crystal brightness of the Wall gleamed.

Ignis staggered to his feet. The Infernian’s fire was far from spent, but he did suffer his shares of battle sores. The crack of his horn was slowly becoming a lump on his human form’s head – and he vaguely recalled things he’d read in medical textbooks about _hairline fractures_ and _concussions_. Nausea would be a new sensation that he wouldn’t care to experience, but for now it seemed he was still spared. Ignis cradled his right hand – broken claws translated into bloodied, bruised fingers – to his chest, and looked around in grim determination.

It was lucky for him that there was no shortage of fires today to jump in.

He traveled, then. He might not have the strength to run – his legs feeling like water – but melting into the gentle welcoming heat of a small fire was as easy as blinking. He covered distances this way, moving from one flame to the next, closer and closer to the city center, to the Citadel. It reassured him to see that there were people already at work clearing the daemons’ bodies, and guiding survivors to shelters. It meant that the battle was over, here too. 

Ignis walked, then. It seemed only proper that he joined in with these sore, tattered soldiers, shouting at each other to be careful of debris, of falling masonry, clasping arms and smacking backs with the mere delight of surviving another day. He wouldn’t want to admit it, but he craved the camaraderie. He would admit that, when a shout of “Doin’ alright there, Guardsman?” was thrown in his direction, he had been rehearsing the reply in his head, and pulled it out rather eagerly, “Just fine, thank you.”

He spotted Noctis’ friends before he spotted the man himself. Aranea Highwind, imposing in full mail, stood out among her mercenaries. There was another mostly undamaged and recently confiscated MT engine, and Ravus Nox Fleuret was standing next to it, his hand tightly clasped in his sister’s as he watched some of the mercenaries and a reserve of Glaives filed into the engine. Of course, Ignis thought vaguely. They were going home. Lunafreya would take advantage of the Empire’s defeat to free her homeland, as Nifflheim had directed all their force to Insomnia in what they had thought was a one shot one kill operation and left only a skeleton crew to hold down their influence in Tenebrae. Had Shiva managed to stir up some kind of insurgence in Tenebrae? The people there had needed only a slow flame to keep their pride alive. Now the return of the lost heir and the Oracle would spark their spirit into a bright flame of rebellion, enough to melt off the Empire’s chain forever. Ignis made a mental note to thank Lunafreya before she left. She had protected Noctis so valiantly – healing his pains both physically and mentally, and he owed her much for that.

He had so much to explain to Noctis. Starting with why he’d left in such haste, without saying goodbye, without telling Noctis he would return. Ignis was aware of how wretched Noctis had become after their separation, and he knew there was no erasing past hurt, but he fully intended to make up for them. To be honest, he had been a bit of a coward. Stung by Noctis’ rejection, he’d hidden behind the urgency of his mission to investigate Nifflheim and their invasion, to not have to face Noctis’ disappointment. Also, he would also have to admit that he might not have acted so drastically if a marriage wasn’t at stake. 

He hadn’t waited for a thousand years to see the love of his life give himself to another, just when they’d started to recognize each other, fake though the arrangement might be. 

Ignis had paused in his advance without quite knowing it. His head was _throbbing_ , and his mouth was dry. Still, anyone approaching the Crown Prince’s vicinity was enough to draw attention, and as he stood there swaying, a Glaive had noticed him, and then Noctis had. “Ignis!” Noctis shouted, relief and concern in his voice at the same time. He disappeared into a blur of crystals, and materialized inches from Ignis’ face. Ignis only had time to hold out his arms before he was tackled into the ground, Noctis landing on top of him, laughing, sobbing, squeezing him in his arms. 

“You’re late!” Noctis accused, and Ignis was instantly transported to a moment in time, years ago, when he’d come upon the young Prince in the gardens of Tenebrae to celebrate his recovery. He’d been received in much the same way too, and he couldn’t help the bubbles of laughter in his chest as Noctis climbed his way to sit on his stomach with just as much determination, acting as if he was locking Ignis in place so he couldn’t get up and leave again. Gentle hands cupped his face, turning his head from side to side, a brush of knuckles against the cut on his temple. “Your horn,” Noctis said, stricken, and Ignis knew he’d recognized the injury. “Are you hurt, love?”

Ignis was more overwhelmed by that single word than he would care to admit. He stared up at Noctis, and his hand came up to cup his face, in turn. He was hollow-cheeked still, pale now that the colors that the heat of battle had lent to his face were receding. He sported his own cuts and bruises, and his skin was smeared with soot from the destroyed city, daemon ichor, and the oil that ran between the joints of the MT engines. His black hair was covered with a white layer of dust. In short, Noctis looked grimy, battle-worn and tired, but he was very alive. His face was haloed by the red and orange sky of the setting sun, and his blue eyes were purple from that combination of colors. He was heart-achingly beautiful, and Ignis, for once, no longer felt obliged to thank the fates that Noctis was safe. 

No. He’d done it this time. He’d kept Noctis safe. 

“It’s nothing,” he reassured Noctis. “I’d give much more to keep you safe.” He’d give anything. The gold from his vein, the fire from his heart, the smoke in his lungs. Everything that made up his being sang as he felt Noctis’ touch, and he forgot that he was lying in the rubbles of a battlefield, in the ashes of a country narrowly defended against Scourge-fire. He was allowed that luxury, for only a moment. When Noctis leaned down to kiss him, Ignis felt as though he was rediscovering the meaning of peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOWEE!!!!!! This chapter was so hard to write (I think i said this every chapter). I have in my mind such epicness and I have to struggle so hard to translate them into words. But it was a treat to write ifrit!ignis and i hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!  
> let me know what you think!!! i look forward to seeing your comments all the time!!!


	18. 17. noctis

“If I accidentally throw up on myself,” Noctis said, readjusting the tie for what it seemed like the thousandth time, trying to find the elusive balance between ‘looking sloppy’ and ‘slowly strangling to death in a fashionable noose’. “Are you going to be able to hide it with glamour? And save my then ruined reputation?” He threw a glance over his shoulder to take in Ignis’ immaculate suit, admiring with a touch of envy the poise that he seemed to have recovered so easily after the fight. It was unfair, Noctis thought – but probably, even given Ignis’ magical powers, Noctis would not be looking half as good. Really he was better off resigning to his fate. 

“You’re not going to throw up,” Ignis smiled at him. His hands rested on Noctis’ shoulder, pivoting him around so he could take over the wrangling of the tie, undoing and redoing the knot with deft fingers. Just watching his hands at work took his mind off the stress. “You directed your army and fended off a Nifflheim invasion. You can field a few questions at a press release.”

“Easy for you to say,” Noctis retorted sullenly. It all still seemed a little surreal to him. The previous morning, he’d woken up in his bed, lost and disoriented, not knowing where he was. Flashes of memories of the fight had come back unbidden, and Noctis almost thought they were pieces of a very vivid dream. Only when he stepped out into the Citadel, heard the bustle of activity and saw the state of destruction, did it slowly sink into him that yes, all of that _had_ happened. 

Even more surreal was the fact that even more responsibility had fallen into his lap after the performance. On one hand, it was natural – Dad was weakened, after having poured all his power into keeping the Wall alive and the Crown City safe. It was up to Noctis to pick up the slack, and really, hadn’t he discarded this doubt long ago? Hadn’t he already accepted his role as Prince and trained all his life for this moment? Still, on the other hand, it seemed a bit premature. Noctis felt like he’d managed to pass a massive sham, fooling the Guards and Glaives who’d fought under him into thinking he knew what he was doing. 

He couldn’t even remember making a conscious effort at strategizing and directing; all that remained in his memory was the stress of protecting everyone that he loved. But one thing couldn’t be mistaken: Noctis was happy that they trusted him. And he supposed he had to trust them in turn. Dad believed in him. Luna, before she left with her brother and Aranea to reclaim her country, had given him her blessing. Now it was his turn to trust in their judgment. 

If they thought he was fit to lead, that it was time for him to measure up to their expectations, how could he disappoint them?

He’d made up his mind long ago, before he even accepted to speak in Regis’ stead at this press release. It didn’t mean the prospect was any less daunting. This was nothing like appearing at Regis’ shoulder, having to only look serious and not fall asleep as Dad addressed the crowd. This time it was him, Noctis, speaking, and he had to calm a city who’d just had their homes destroyed and their lives thrown into jeopardy, reassure people who’d seen daemons storm their homes and workplaces and their children’s school in broad daylight. Beyond mere platitudes, he had to remind them of the facts: that they’d fought it all off, and they had the power to overcome. 

With all that responsibility, having a suit that fit and a neck tie that didn’t strangle him seemed like minor and frivolous concerns. But Noctis couldn’t begin to overstate how much they contributed to his ability to hold up under pressure. And of course, he had Ignis’ presence at his side, and that felt like the most extravagant luxury of them all: to have him so close, within arm’s reach even; to know that he could turn his head at any moment and see Ignis smiling at him. It gave Noctis immeasurable courage but also a sense of normalcy. Today he was the Crown Prince, but here was a person with whom he could still talk to as if he was still a new high school graduate, whose most pressing worries were to look up college application, to keep up his ranking in his favorite video games, and to remember dinner even as he focused on polishing his essay. In short, with Ignis here, Noctis felt more like himself. When he saw Gladio and Prompto, he would probably lose this surreal feeling altogether – the one where he felt as though if he took one step and be shaken loose from his own skin. 

“You’re good at this,” Noctis remarked after Ignis had finished and pulled away with a pat. Just because he could, he snagged at Ignis’ tie and pulled the man closer to kiss him. “Considering that all you’re wearing is glamour.” His hand strayed lower, toying with the lapel of Ignis’ suit jacket, rubbing the fabric between his fingers to test the texture. Yep, felt real enough. “Are you actually naked right now and it’s only us mere mortal that can’t see it?”

“Of course not,” Ignis laughed. Noctis loved how the other man seemed to know exactly what he needed, how he indulged him in this inane chit-chat instead of making him review the prompts and notes for his speech. It was yet another show of implicit trust that Noctis could never help but marvel about. “It is glamour, and it is magic, but that doesn’t mean it’s not real. It’s still limited by my knowledge of what’s physically possible – stepping into Eos and discovering all the progress you’d made with dyes had been a revelation to me. There was a time where the color purple cost double its weight in gold.” Ignis’ gentle, neutral smile turned into a smirk as he slowly bent down to speak directly into Noctis’ ear. “Of course, my clothing being glamour _does_ mean that I can get naked on exceedingly short notice. Remind me to show you, sometime.”

“Good gods! You can’t say stuffs like that!” Noctis wailed, pulling back so suddenly the top of his head collided with the bottom of Ignis’ jaw. The impact was negligible, but it did mean that his carefully pressed down hair had been offended enough to rebel again. A glance into the mirror showed him that an entire bundle of hair had escaped the grip of Prompto’s hair gel. It was truly ill advised to get that haircut, except Noctis would never admit it. “Great! Now I’m gonna have the mental image of you wearing a magic tear-away suit while addressing the citizens of the Crown City of Insomnia. Thanks a lot, Iggy!”

“You’ll live,” Ignis was grinning, the absolute smug bastard. But he did look a little rueful as he watched Noctis battle with his hair. “I would glamour your hair if I thought I could keep it from misbehaving. Alas, I fear it might be beyond my powers.”

“Yeah,” Noctis agreed. “I think even divine intervention couldn’t make my hair does what we want it to do.” In the mirror he saw an attendant peek in anxiously, and understood that it was his cue. With no time left to make any reparation to his appearance, he let his hands fall to his side and drew in a big breath. “Alright, take me to the gallows, Specs.”

Ignis escorted him out of the dressing room and fell back a step behind him. Prompto and Gladio were waiting outside, and Noctis noticed the look of mixed wonder and betrayal that they’d shot Ignis as they flanked him. He knew the attitude didn’t come from any ill will, but simply because they were both _mortified_ that they had both developed a crush on an actual Astral. Gladio was stone faced, which meant he was as pissy as a wet cat, and Prompto’s face was as red as if he was already critically sun burnt. For some reason, this was reassuring. It made Noctis straighten his back and walk a little taller to know that, no matter the outcome of today, he still had the same friends at his side and at his back.

The speech wasn’t that bad, actually. He’d gone over it with Dad the previous night, checking the wording and practiced saying it aloud a couple times. Now, as he stood at the podium, on the steps in front of the Citadel, looking down at a crowd of hopeful faces – so many of them that they all blurred into one another – Noctis found that the words rolled out on their own. He didn’t need his notes or his prompts. He knew what he wanted to say, and he’d said it: that the marriage had been a ploy, and the Oracle had given her help to lure the Empire in so Lucis had a chance to strike back. That they had found allies where they’d thought there were none, and with the combined force of their efforts they had repelled the Nifflheim attack, dismantling the Empire’s formidable war machines. Last, but not least, that there was no doubt they would be able to fight any horrors the Empire still had in store for them, as long as they remained together. 

Noctis had been nervous, but okay, he had expected the speech part to be easy. He’d been on TV plenty of times, and he’d had tutors coaching him on public speaking since he was little. The next part was more difficult however, as the reporters showered him with scarily, unscrupulously shrewd questions. They spared none of his feelings – as were their rights, they weren’t here to make his life easy. But still, Noctis couldn’t help but be a little overwhelmed as they shouted questions about the risks and perils of open war with the Empire. They demanded proof that the marriage – and peace treaty – had just been a ploy, and that Lucis had not completely and hopelessly botched up its only chance at lasting peace. They raised concerns about how Tenebrae would be taking this ‘slight’, and more importantly, if one offended the Oracle, wouldn’t one court also the Gods’ wrath? Also, they latched onto his mention of ‘allies’, trying to wring out meanings from every single word – and somehow managed to twist that the other way around altogether.

“Your Highness, what did the Oracle have to say about the Infernian’s appearance?” One man raised his hand. “He had not been seen for hundreds of years. How do we even know what he wants?” 

“All the legends said that Ifrit was fickle and wicked!” A woman joined in. “How can we be sure he wasn’t here to help the Empire? In the confusion, who know what he did? Most of the damages were caused by fire. And where are his Messengers? Why have them not spoken to us, like Lady Gentiana has?”

It was chaos. Some of the questions annoyed him, but if Noctis had learned one thing from Dad, it was that even the crown didn’t mean he was beyond attacking, and any question deserved an answer, if only so they could put a wild rumor to rest. But Noctis took the questions about Ifrit personally. He was _offended_. Weren’t they here when the attack happened? Did they not see that Insomnia did not have a chance without a God on their side – did they not notice how much Ifrit had done to keep them safe?

Prompto was sending him quick glances, and Gladio’s expression was becoming a little grimmer by the second. His Shield was probably considering shouting at the crowd to recall them to order, but still he was holding back because that would surely snowball and look _bad_. Noctis searched in the mass, trying to look for sympathy and understanding in a single face, and found none. They weren’t violent but clearly not convinced. They were merely skeptical, and it would take a miracle to influence them.

Noctis didn’t know it then, but he was lucky to have a literal God at his back.

As he was still trying to calm the crowd, speaking as loudly and clearly as he could, trying to keep his head above the waves of voices that threatened to pull him down, he noticed their attention was suddenly turned elsewhere. After a moment of puzzlement, Noctis turned his head to follow their gaze, his heart doing a little loop in his chest as flight-or-fight instincts kicked in. Did they spot a MT engine? A daemon? Were they too soon in celebrating? But before the fear could even form, it was quickly dismantled by a wave of warmth and calm, his veins filling with a strange, telltale buoyancy. Noctis turned a little more, now angling his body back entirely, to see Ignis emerging from the shadows at his back. 

For a second Noctis was unable to process this. Ignis had never kept out of sight really, but Noctis knew that he was always shielded by invisibility. Ignis had explained how a mortal’s eyes would just slide over him without realizing he was there at all. This, however, was a deliberate display. A performance. There was no ignoring Ignis’ presence: It was as palpable as a bonfire, dangerous and yet intoxicating, larger than life. He didn’t claim the space that he could’ve, in his true form, but he didn’t have to. His gait was regal enough to command the entire scene. Each of his steps left a flaming footprint behind on the red carpet, but the fabric remained completely whole. As Ignis got closer, he nodded slightly to Noctis, reassuring him. _This is what I want,_ he might as well have spoken aloud. _Play along_. 

And then Ignis went down on one knee at Noctis’ feet with a hand over his heart.

“I speak for Ifrit,” Ignis said. The sound washed over the crowd with such a power that it made them go quiet instantly and completely. It was Ignis’ voice, speaking the human tongue, but enhanced by magic so it seemed to come straight from the heavens. “The Infernian stands with the Kingdom of Lucis against the Nifflheim threat. He’s already fought the Empire to keep the King and the Crown Prince safe. He’d shed blood just as your soldiers have done, and he had not left the battlefield whole.” He lifted a hand. Noctis floundered, wandering if he was supposed to take it, and if not, what he was supposed to do. Ignis was so much better at this drama stuff than Noctis was. In the end, Noctis didn’t need to do anything at all. 

A circle of fire cut itself in the air at Ignis’ beckoning, and he thrust his hand inside to pull out a sword. Noctis’ heart _thumped_ in painful recognition, before he even saw the obsidian black of the blade, the mere presence of the sword sparking up the air around it. He could _feel_ it at his core, in the part that went cold when Ignis was away from him. He knew the sword was part of Ifrit as surely as he could feel Ignis’ gaze as it fastened on his eyes. Still steadily, Ignis spoke. “This is a fragment of his horn,” he said, holding the sword up to Noctis on two hands. “It is the mark of his blessing, and proof of his loyalty to the Crown Prince of Lucis.”

Taking the sword was a grave act. It was filled with enough intention to split the ground they stood on. It felt like a promise. Noctis saw how a shiver coursed over Ignis’ form when the very tip of Noctis’ fingers touched the leather-wrapped hill. As he hefted the blade in his hand, Noctis felt like he was on top of the world. Not because of the powers that Ignis was handing him, no, but because he understood what this gesture meant. Ignis, over many sleepless nights, had murmured apologies to Noctis, biting out bitter words about how he couldn’t meddle in human affairs. Noctis hadn’t wanted his apologies, because he understood the divide between the Astrals and the mortals, no matter how he wished there weren’t, not like this. But this was not just meddling. Ignis had chosen a side. He’d thrown his lot in with Noctis, he’d chosen to stand by the side of one puny little mortal Prince, just because he loved him. 

The crowd couldn’t possibly know all this, but it was still exactly what they needed to see. “I humbly accept this gift,” Noctis said, over numb lips, rounding out the performance. “And I vow to put the Infernian’s blessing to good use.” The words tumbled out clumsily and uselessly, but it was more for the benefit of the press. Ignis, Noctis knew, needed no promises. He stood, and Noctis turned to face the crowd with him. At a whim, he lifted the sword over his head. It sparked a flame that arched into the sky like a soaring bird. 

As he admired the flare, allowing himself to soak in the comfort of the applause, Noctis felt Ignis’ hand sneak into the hand Noctis had clasped behind his back. Noctis squeezed his hand back, even managing a smile as he faced the flashing lights of the camera. This was right. This was as it should be. The two of them together, and they could change the fate of the world. 

*

Comparing to the nerve-wracking affair that was the press release, the party they held that night at the Citadel was a walk in the park. 

It was, not in any standards, a grand party. Most of the place was still covered in mortar and plaster dust, and most of the curtains and carpets had been removed, either to be cleaned or to be replaced altogether. The food that was served was mostly leftover from the supposed wedding – untouched, obviously, as things had turned out. They were a little stale, but still absolutely delicious. The guests themselves were not even very grand. In fact, the entire party was a little ragged, a little damaged: Regis in a wheelchair, Clarus hobbling around with a leg in cast but refusing any attempt from Gladio to make him sit still. Many Guards and Glaives present were in a similar state of disarray, but it didn’t matter. They were celebrating simply being there. They were making merry because, for the first time in years, there was hope. They were finally starting to push back, and the Gods willing, there might even be a victory in it for them down the line. 

(Noctis knew for a fact that at least one God was willing, and it was so very sad that he couldn’t share that fact with anyone but himself.)

They held the party in the banquet hall, which was still decked out in its grand decorations (or what left of it that hadn’t fallen off or burned down during the fight.) However, the ambiance was not at all formal. Not happy with only tiny toasts and canapes (and shuddering at the word ‘finger food’ as if it was a disease) quite a few of the party guests had even rolled up their sleeves to join in with the cooking staff themselves. Noctis almost bumped into Glaives as they were zipping back and forth from the kitchen, carrying platefuls of food, thick skewers and bowls of spicy soups filled to the rim. They refrained from warping out of respect for the King who was exhausted with his magic drained, but Noctis could tell they were trying their best to move as quickly as they could. Some of the food was deposited on the table for the partygoers to share, but most of it was being ferried away to the barracks to the soldiers who were very much invited but who decided they’d rather not try to fit into the already bursting space. 

It was loud, crowded, messy, noisy, and Noctis loved every moment of it. He didn’t think the royal banquet hall had ever seen better use. Wistfully, Noctis wished Luna was still here. The victory had been hers also. She had fought side to side with all of them, while carrying the extra burden of healing the wounded. She had left just as tired and ragged as they were, and there was still more dire works to be done in her own country. After they’d secured the defense of Lucis, and after Dad had recovered a bit more, perhaps Noctis could afford a trip over to Tenebrae, help her with her work as she had helped him with his. 

Thinking of the future kind of put a damper on Noctis’ mood though. He was happy to see the smiling, hopeful faces of the Glaives and Guards, but one way or another they reminded him of his responsibilities, and he would like a break. Right now, he needed to see a more familiar face, one belonging to a person who had delicately extracted himself from the party and who had yet to return to Noctis’ side. Noctis started his slow and strategical retreat towards the exit, greeting any Glaive and Guard who wanted a word with him, but keeping the small talks brief and his progress steady. The doors were wide open, courtesy of the food couriers, and Noctis slipped out from them quite easily.

Now he was alone in the empty hallway. Having to rely on generators for electricity for now, the lights were turned down, swathing the Citadel in uncharacteristic darkness. As Noctis walked through the marble corridors, it seemed his echoing footsteps were much louder than they really were. He had a moment of déjà-vu, a throwback into the past – remembering how, as a child, he’d often snuck through these corridors, dragging a plush or a blanket as his companion, in search of Dad, who would always be working late into the night. 

Funny how this old cold building held so many of his loved ones as well as his fondest memories. The Citadel may be to others only a symbol of the Crown City, to be sure, but it was also Noctis’ home. The enemy had attacked his family, inside his home. They had broken it, damaged it – as the empty dome of the throne room reminded Noctis. The Empire in their wretched ambition had drawn blood from their flesh, broken their bones, but they had not managed to touch their heart.

At the throne, Ignis sat. Not on the throne itself, no, even if the structure was mostly intact. He sat on the floor at the throne’s side, his back leaned against the marble, long legs stretched out in front of him, slightly bent at the knees to rest his arms on. His face was tipped up, and an ethereal light lit up his profile – the slight bump of his nose, the curve of his lips, the long line of his throat all in stark contrast. A thin, pale light was trickling in through the broken dome like sand through an hourglass. It converged into Ignis, pooling around him, wrapping him in a soft, pulsing glow. No – In fact, upon further inspection, Noctis saw that Ignis wasn’t merely shone on. The glow came from within himself, playing along his beautiful, clever hands, radiating along the soft curve of his cheekbones. It was a light gentler than the fires he was usually wreathed in, timeless and unfading. It was breathtaking enough, but somewhere in Noctis’ mind he held the knowledge of what it was, and it made the sight he was beholding even more wondrous. 

Ignis was communing with the stars. 

Another might hesitate to come closer, afraid to shake Ignis from his meditation. But Noctis knew for a fact that the man was already aware of his presence, must have been even since Noctis had left the banquet hall, and maybe had even accompanied his every footstep. It was impossible to be communing with the stars and not be hyper aware of one’s surrounding. If Ignis appeared to be still and quiet, it was only because in his mortal form he had to eliminate all other functions in order to process all the thoughts, feelings, magic, knowledge, patterns of the future – everything that the stars saw fit to stream through the ether to him in their light. As Noctis came closer, Ignis cracked an eye open in greeting. It was glazed over in white, with far away sparks that might have been imprints from the galaxy. It might have been a bit strange, but it failed to unsettle Noctis – as Ignis must have known – and the Prince just sat right down and rested his head on his lover’s shoulder. 

What came next was a new sensation, one that Noctis’ distant memory couldn’t explain. It felt as if Ignis had reached over and pulled a blanket over him, while in fact he had not moved at all. It took Noctis one look down at himself to understand: he, too, was shining. The stars had reached through Ignis to touch him also. After a few tentative, exploring prods, the light spread itself all over him. He thought he could hear their voices twinkling like crystal, in laughter, in soft, childish nursery rimes that nonetheless carried the power of a blessing. Noctis hardly noticed it when he’d slid down to rest his head in Ignis’ lap, curling up on his side. As he fell asleep wrapped in starlight and in Ignis’ warmth, he vaguely wondered if it meant this time around the stars reserved for them a gentler fate.

With Ignis at his side, he even dared to hope.

[ ](https://monzy-atelier.tumblr.com/post/185321454380/resting-after-the-battle-yet-another)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry this chapter took so long, april and may had been kinda hectic for the two of us. But we did manage to complete work on this chapter, and the next is already in the work and hopefully not long in coming. I hope you enjoy the read and please let us know what you think!!!!


End file.
